


Green-Eyed Monsters

by claralannister



Series: Green-Eyed Monsters [1]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, Crack Treated Seriously, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Hurt/Comfort, I'll update the tags as we go along, Major Character Survival, Multi, No Incest, POV Multiple, Pegging, Polyamory, Relapsing, Smut, Sort Of, Strap-Ons, Switching, Threesome - F/F/M, and brienne is stuck with them, can siblings break up?, cersei and jaime break up, cersei catches feelings for brienne whoops, cersei finally gets to work through her issues, cersei is a bitch but she means well, cersei is fifty shades of repressed, cersei is the worst wingwoman ever, clueless idiots, everyone is bi, from time to time, fuck tywin lives, i'd feel bad tagging this as j/c but it's still present somewhat so be aware of that, if j/c Really squicks you out maybe skip the first chapter, internalised biphobia, kind of no incest?, not beautiful golden fools so much as dumb blonde bisexual idiots, pro-cersei and pro-braime because that can coexist fuck you, sansaery b-plot, sexy swordfighting, started out as crack now we're here, subscribing to the principle that brienne has two hands but jaime only has one, the opposite of major character death, turns out without the incest they're just unhinged crackheads
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 185,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22865932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claralannister/pseuds/claralannister
Summary: After Joffrey dies, Cersei and Jaime break up, having realised that their relationship is, really, doing them more harm than good. Jaime quickly falls for Brienne, and Cersei is more than willing to help him win her over, but as she does so she begins to feel something towards the lady knight.Jealousy was expected, but she'd never anticipated falling in love with her.
Relationships: Cersei Lannister & Jaime Lannister, Cersei Lannister & Qyburn, Cersei Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth, Myrcella Baratheon & Brienne of Tarth, Myrcella Baratheon & Cersei Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon & Jaime Lannister, Myrcella Baratheon/Trystane Martell, Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Series: Green-Eyed Monsters [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1811038
Comments: 65
Kudos: 146





	1. The Only Way Is Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we get into this, fuck the show for making That Scene in the sept a rape scene. It's completely OOC for Jaime, and in this story, let's roll with the fact that it was consensual on both ends (but still deeply fucked up). Okay? Now let's go.

**Cersei**

The term “hitting rock bottom” was such a relative one. Plenty of people seemed to, at some point or another, think they had hit rock bottom, when really they had only begun to scratch the surface and were armed with a pickaxe and a shovel, and more than ready to dig deeper.

But as Cersei Lannister felt the cold, hard floor of the sept against her back, she was pretty sure that if anything counted as hitting rock bottom, it was that.

“Fuck,” she said noncommittally, pushing herself up into a sitting position. “Fuck.”

Her brain was still floating around in its post-coital haze, but that particular word seemed to stick out to her, like a candle in the dark.  
She looked up to see the body of her dead son lying above her, still and at peace, stones over his eyes. _Fuck!_

She hastily pulled her gown back on over her body - when had it become so bloody cold in there - and stood up, smoothing it down like nothing had just happened.

She didn’t believe in the gods, not really, but it was times like this that she swore she could feel them watching her.

A noise from below startled her, and she stumbled away from the dais. It was Jaime, half-asleep and half-naked, snoring as he always did.

Cersei frowned. How the hell could he sleep at a time like this?

“Jaime,” she said, bending down. “Jaime - wake up, you idiot.”

She shook his shoulder vigorously, and he jolted awake, hitting his head on the dais.

“Ow!” he said. “Cersei - what-”

“I’m glad to see that one of us is calm enough to be able to sleep.”

He didn’t seem to hear her words. He looked around hazily, as if trying to figure out where they were and what had just happened.

Cersei could pinpoint the exact moment when it dawned on him.

“Shit!” He scrambled to his feet, pulling himself up by the dais. “Cersei - Joffrey - shit. How long was I asleep for?”

“Not long,” Cersei said, although, to be fair, she wasn’t too sure either. “Anyone could have come in. What were we thinking?”

She looked at him expectantly.

“Don’t look at me!”

“You were the one who initiated it!”

He made a face. “I - I don’t know.”

Cersei huffed. “Well, the next time you decide to bend me over a table, make sure our dead son isn’t lying on it.”

“Cersei!”

She knew that she had crossed a line with that last one, but she didn’t really have the will to care. Just being in the same room as Joffrey was causing that pit of grief and anger to open up inside her, and she couldn’t stand to look at it any longer. Look at either of them.

“If you’re angry at me-”

“I’m not angry at you.” That was a lie. “Well, maybe I am. I don’t know. I just - I don’t know.”

There was a gap between them. Neither moved to close it.

Jaime sighed. “Well, where do we go from here?”

“How am I meant to know?” She threw her hands up in frustration. The air in the room felt stifling, like it was slowly choking her.

Choking. Joffrey. The sight of his face, streaked in blood and tears and spit, choking to death in her arms, on the ground, on the dais where they’d -

No. No, no, no - she pushed it right down, compressing it into a ball and pushing it to the back of her mind. She gripped the sides of her gown for comfort.

“Are you alright?” Jaime said. “I mean, obviously neither of us are, but-”

Cersei took a deep breath. “If this little...encounter has made anything clear, it’s that right now, I can’t help you, and you can’t help me. We’re only going to make things worse for each other.”

Jaime nodded. “That sounds about right.”

“Good. Good.” Cersei wrung her hands, and began to walk towards the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Somewhere. Anywhere. Don’t follow me.”

She walked out of the sept without looking back, sunlight stinging her eyes a little as she emerged into the daylight for the first time in what could have been anything between minutes and days. It refreshed her, that sunlight, but as she walked aimlessly through the streets of King’s Landing, all she could hear were Jaime’s words in her head: _Where do we go from here?_

  
For the next few days, Cersei hardly saw Jaime. She wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, if he was avoiding her, or even if she was avoiding him, and she didn’t really have the will to care. If he’s sulking, let him sulk.

She was far too concerned with sending someone to find Sansa Stark. That traitorous whore needed to be found and put down, and she almost enjoyed being angry at her. It filled the void of emotion she had felt since Joff’s death.

She had momentarily considered sending Jaime off to find her, but decided against it, knowing that while some time apart might be good for them, it wouldn’t be safe to have him so far away. So, off Podrick and Bronn went, up north, hopefully to find the wolf-girl’s head and bring it to her.

Once they had gone, however, that restlessness settled in her veins, and she went to find Jaime, hopefully to sort out the rift between them ever since that day in the sept.

“Oh. Cersei,” he said when she walked into his chambers, “what are you doing here?”

She lingered in the doorway for a moment, realising she didn’t know what she was doing there. She had thought they would have sex, but looking back on her thought process, it wasn’t a desire like it usually was. It was just a technicality, a way of getting things done. Which she was used to, of course, with Lancel and Kettleblack and even Robert sometimes, but not Jaime.

“I came to see you,” she said, putting on her usual seductive smirk and walking over to his bed like nothing had happened.

“Ah,” he said somewhat stiffly. “I’m sorry, Cersei.”

“Don’t worry,” she said, prowling towards him. “I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.”

The words felt wrong, like she was reading them from a book.

Jaime didn’t look too thrilled at the prospect either.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll-”

He went to undo his breeches, but Cersei held up a hand to stop him.

“Wait,” she said. “I - no. This doesn’t feel right.”

Jaime’s face softened. “Thank the gods.”

Cersei settled down next to him on the bed, like they were two normal siblings having a completely normal conversation. “I was wondering why you’d been avoiding me.”

“I thought you’d been avoiding me!”

“Ah.” She pursed her lips. “So we’ve both been avoiding each other. I might have expected as much, after-”

“Do we have to talk about it?”

“Of course we do.” She lowered her voice. “What we did was - well. Pretty much unforgivable, even by our standards.”

“So what do we do now?”

Always with the difficult question. “I don’t know. I don’t think avoiding each other has worked for either of us. But this-” she indicated the space between them, “feels better somehow.”

“Do you think?” He looked almost excited at the prospect, and Cersei didn’t blame him.

“I think so, yes.” She paused for a second. “So where does this leave us?”

“It feels rather like a marriage being annulled.”

She smirked. “It does, doesn’t it?”

Neither of them said anything for a few moments.

“So?” he said. “Is this it? For...for us?”

“Oh, my darling brother,” she said sarcastically. “You can never get rid of me. But in a sense, I suppose...yes. If you want it to be.”

“Do you want it to be?”

“Yes,” she said, more decisively than she’d expected. “At least, for now.”

“Well,” Jaime said, somewhat awkwardly, “it’s been fun.”

“Fun?” She threw her head back and laughed. “It’s been a gods-damned nightmare. But I won’t say I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Me neither.”

She patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Thank you, then. Thank you, and goodbye.”

“You sound like you’re saying goodbye forever. Won’t I see you at dinner?”

Cersei chuckled to herself. “I’m sure you will.”

Jaime nodded. “Goodbye then, sweet sister.”

Cersei got up and walked towards the door, and this time, for the first time, she didn’t have the irresistible urge to look back.


	2. A Woman's Best Weapon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne and Jaime spar with swords; Cersei and Jaime spar with words. Oberyn Martell of all people seems to have some wisdom to offer Cersei in these confusing times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say: I love Sansa, Margaery, Brienne, Renly, and Oberyn. But Cersei doesn't, and I'm writing from her POV, so there will be some unsavoury things said about them. Basically, Cersei's views do not reflect my own. (Obviously.)

**Cersei**

The afternoon after Tommen was crowned, Cersei found herself taking a walk down by the sea. It was so peaceful there, and she needed to clear her head after her conversation with the Tyrell bitch. Margaery had been all smiles and sympathy at the coronation, wearing a dress that showed far too much cleavage for a woman in mourning. Cersei had wanted nothing more than to stab the girl and let her bleed out on the throne room floor, but she doubted that would elicit a good response from the court and her son. So she stood by idly while the whore dug her thorns into Tommen, playing him like a lute.

Cersei breathed in the sea air. None of that now.

As she approached the cliffs, she heard the faint clanging of swords. It was nothing out of the ordinary - many young men liked to spar by the sea, liking the view and the fact that plenty of young girls could watch them and be impressed by their skills. But there was something about the grunts and gasps that sounded familiar, and somewhat out of the ordinary…

As she came to the terrace overlooking the sparring pit, she understood why.

Jaime was fighting with someone, holding the sword in his left hand while his golden right one lay useless at his side. Cersei felt a twinge of sympathy for her brother: sword fighting was the one thing he was good at, and to have that taken away from him - she couldn’t begin to imagine it.

“Step into it more,” said the other person. “You need to find your balance.”

Cersei restrained a little gasp as she realised who it was. Brienne. The overgrown excuse for a woman who had brought Jaime home to her.

“I’m trying,” Jaime said. “It isn’t easy.”

“I know it isn’t easy,” Brienne said. “But you have to try.”

Jaime nodded, something in his face softening. “I will try.”

'But you love him.' The words Cersei had said to Brienne at Joff’s wedding came flooding back to her, echoing in her mind. Was that true?

Something burned inside her as she watched them fight. Brienne was clearly a skilled swordswoman, and she was clearly going easy on Jaime. She could have knocked him on his back easily three times by now, but she wasn’t trying to.

She was sure Brienne could get him on his back in another situation, if she so desired.

Cersei cringed at the crudeness of her own thoughts. Not now.

Jaime seemed fascinated as they moved together. It was almost like a dance, the two of them moving around each other fluidly, Brienne teaching Jaime the steps he had long since forgotten.

Forget whether or not Brienne loved him. Did Jaime love her?

Something curdled inside Cersei at the thought of that, even though she had no reason to resent him for it. Their parting had been mutual, and both of them had the right to take on another lover if they so desired. But watching Brienne in the pit...there was something off about it. Something unusual. Cersei couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

Jaime held the tip of his sword to Brienne’s chest, and he beamed.

“Ha!” he said. “I won!”

Brienne smiled back at him.

“Don’t sound too proud. I did let you win.”

Jaime tilted his head. “Did you?”

“Shut up.”

Oh, he definitely liked her. Goodness knew why, what he saw in that oaf of a woman, but Cersei was hardly one to judge.

She pushed that unfamiliar burning feeling down as she walked on.

-

“Thought I might find you down here,” she said, approaching her brother. The throne room was empty except for them, and Jaime was leaning over the balcony.

“Have you been looking for me?”

Cersei shrugged. “I suppose so.”

“What for?”

“I saw you in the sparring pit today. With that woman...oh, what’s her name?” Cersei feigned ignorance for a few moments. “Brianna? Brielle?”

Jaime blushed a little. “Brienne.”

“Brienne! That’s it. I spoke to her at the wedding. Lovely girl. Very honourable.” She gave a suggestive smile.

“What do you want, Cersei?”

“Must I want something? Am I not allowed to take an interest in my darling brother’s love life?”

“Love life?” Jaime took a step back. “I - I don’t know what you-”

“Oh, relax, Jaime. I know that look. I’ve seen it a thousand times, but never pointed at anyone but me. If anything, I’m proud of you.”

Was she lying? She couldn’t tell.

Jaime seemed to become a little less tense. “I - we spent a lot of time together on the way home. She saved my life. Countless times.”

An image of Brienne came into Cersei’s mind unbidden, all courage and ferocity, fighting off a bear as she had supposedly done. She pushed it away.

“So do you love her?”

“You sound like you’re fifteen again.”

“Don’t distract me from the question.”

Jaime took a deep breath. “I - well? Yes? I don’t-”

Cersei laughed. “There we go.”

“You’re not angry? Jealous?”

Of course she was. “Not at all. You know, I’m sure she likes you too.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. She was in love with Renly Baratheon, before-”

“Renly Baratheon was a sword-swallower, and now he’s a dead sword-swallower. You are neither of those things, and much more attractive, if I do say so myself.” She looked her brother up and down. “Though I must say your positive attributes end there. You’re hardly charming.”

“I can be charming.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Can you? Pretend I’m her.”

“What?”

“Do it.” She pushed herself up on her tiptoes and deepened her voice. “Hello. I’m Brienne of Tarth.”

Jaime looked all flustered. “I - hello, Brienne. You - your hair looks lovely today?”

Cersei sighed and returned to her normal height. “No wonder the only woman you could get was your sister.”

“You are the sister!” Jaime said, pointing his golden hand at her accusingly. “That - that was you!”

Cersei smirked. “Was I? Dear me, I’d forgotten.”

“You’re horrible.”

“You’re useless.”

They both looked at each other for a few seconds, and laughed.

“If you do happen to run into her, please don’t tell her her hair looks lovely today.”

“Your...hair looks lovely every day?” By the Seven, he really was an idiot.

Cersei chuckled. “That’s better. Marginally.”

“Really?” The poor man sounded hopeful.

“Keep working on it.”

“Cersei...are you serious? You’d help me...you’d help me win her over?”

“She hardly needs winning over. She’s already drooling all over you like every other maiden in the Seven Kingdoms. You just need to let her know you feel the same.”

Jaime nodded. “I can do that.”

“Can you?”

He sighed. “No.”

“That’s precisely what I’m here for, brother dear.”

Oberyn Martell was not someone Cersei had expected to find herself walking to the harbour with, but he was an interesting enough companion. Even if they hated each other.

They’d talked about many things - how Myrcella was these days, how different Dorne was from King’s Landing, how much Cersei missed her daughter and hoped to see her again some day.

As silence settled between them for a few moments, Cersei found a burning question inside her mind. “What do you think of Brienne of Tarth?”

Oberyn laughed. “She seems like a lovely woman. A little tall for my taste, but-”

“Not like that, you reckless degenerate. I mean as a person.”

“Why do you ask?”

Cersei paused for a moment. “I do believe Jaime is in love with her.”

“I thought members of the Kingsguard were not allowed to take lovers?”

Oberyn knew, Cersei could tell. His tone was full of implications. Knew about her and Jaime, or what they had once been.

“Jaime is the heir to Casterly Rock, and with Tyrion imprisoned, he will need to marry and reproduce. I am simply trying to ascertain if Brienne is an acceptable candidate.”

Oberyn smirked infuriatingly. “Jealous?”

Cersei bit her lip. “Whatever you have heard about-”

“I don’t mean of her. Are you jealous of Jaime?”

Cersei didn’t understand, and her expression must have made that clear. “How?”

“You Westerland girls are far too sheltered. Tell me, when you look at her, how do you feel?”

Cersei was veering into dangerous territory, but she felt compelled to tell him. “I feel...confused. I can’t quite tell what I think of her, but-”

“You don’t know, but there’s something about her that makes your stomach twist and your heart burn?”

“Y - yes.” How did he know? “Does that sound like jealousy to you?”

Oberyn laughed. “Cersei Lannister. You do fascinate me.”

“And you infuriate me. What’s so funny?”

“You don’t see that you might be attracted to her?”

“Attracted to her?” Cersei realised what he was getting at. “I know that things work very differently in Dorne, but I do not keep company with other women.”

It was an absurd suggestion. Of course she wasn’t a lover of women, like that Greyjoy girl was rumoured to be. She had been madly in love with Jaime, and Rhaegar, and even Robert for a fleeting moment. She liked men.

“I suspect differently, Your Grace.” Gods, he was so smug. “I suspect I am right, and you are attracted to Lady Brienne.”

“But-”

“You are aware that one can be attracted to both men and women?”

Cersei had never heard of such a thing. “Is that possible?”

“Of course, Your Grace. I am living proof.”

She frowned. “But men and women are so...so different. How can you love both?”

“The same way your heart can belong to two men at once. This country is so closed-minded.”

No. What he was saying didn’t make sense - even if you could love both men and women, and even if Cersei did, which she didn’t -

 _Melara Hetherspoon_ , a voice in her mind said.

Memories came flooding back to her of the beautiful girl she had known as a child - how they had played by the sea, snuck out to Lannisport together, stolen kisses in the caves when no one was looking.

But that had just been fun and games. They had been children, and children did that sort of thing - then again, the only other person she had stolen kisses with as a child was Jaime. And she had certainly been attracted to him.

Several other names flooded into her mind for a moment. _Taena Merryweather? Lysa Tully? Lyanna Stark?_ She pushed them all away, amazed at her own absurdity and the influence Oberyn seemed to have over her with his peculiar words.

“Are you all right, Your Grace?”

Cersei’s face hardened. “You are a most irritating man, Prince Oberyn.”

“So I was right.”

She turned around. “I’m going back to the Keep.”

“If you have any questions, don’t be afraid to ask!” he said. She scoffed at the nerve of him, hardly able to believe he would suggest such a thing.

And yet...some part of her, deep down, knew he was right. But she wasn’t about to admit that to herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading! Please leave a comment with feedback <3


	3. A Careful Observation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei speaks to Brienne for the first time since Joffrey's wedding, and makes some surprising observations. Margaery has some careful warnings she thinks Brienne should heed, and reveals a secret of her own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get the first non-Cersei POV here, later in the chapter. God, writing from her perspective is hard. Getting into her head is a whole thing, but it's kind of fun once you get going. Anyway, enjoy!

**Cersei**

“Ser Jaime!”

Upon hearing Brienne’s voice, Cersei ducked into the nearest alcove, hoping neither of them would notice her lurking in the shadows.

“Oh, good afternoon, Brienne.”

“Are you all right?”

“Why do you ask?” Cersei could hear how flustered he was already from the quiver in his voice. She prayed silently that he didn’t make a fool of himself and fuck everything up.

Or maybe she wanted him to fuck everything up. She couldn’t tell.

“I know it’s been difficult for you recently, with your – _nephew_ passing away, and Bronn going up north. I see you all the time, but I never really speak to you.”

“Oh. I – you’re right, it’s been difficult, but I’m fine, thank you. Especially because I have people like you I can rely on.” Jaime put his hands in his pockets and grinned awkwardly. “Thank you, Brienne. For caring.”

Cersei smiled a little, despite herself.

“How’s your…” Brienne indicated her right hand.

“Good. Well, not good, but, well. As good as it’s going to get.”

They loved each other, any fool could tell. Only two idiots in love would talk like that, get as flustered over simple conversation and stutter and stammer the way they did.

Or maybe Jaime was always that obvious. It was a miracle they hadn’t been found out years ago.

Cersei wondered if Brienne knew about her and Jaime. She wondered if Brienne thought about her at all.

 _Not right now_ , she told herself. _But when?_

“You know, I don’t believe we’ve had a conversation this long without you insulting me yet,” Jaime said, somewhat cockily. Damn him.

“Oh, do you want me to insult you?” Brienne said, raising her eyebrows. “Because I can, if you want.”

Jaime didn’t seem to know how to respond to that one. “Um…I’d rather you didn’t. I was just making an observation.”

“I don’t hate you, Jaime. You do know that, don’t you?”

 _Of course he knows that_ , Cersei thought, rolling her eyes. _You’re madly in love with him, and he’s madly in love with you. Just get it over with and fuck already._

But apparently, that wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

“You don’t?”

“Of course not. I – you saved my life.”

“You saved mine.”

“I was protecting you. You – you didn’t have to protect me.” She was holding out a little better than Jaime, but not by much.

“I’m not completely honourless.”

Brienne nodded thoughtfully. “I know.”

There was a pause between them, and Cersei couldn’t tell what was happening from where she was standing.

“Would you like to spar with me?” Brienne asked. “We’ve got about an hour before sundown.”

Jaime shook his head. “I can’t. Kingsguard duties.”

“Oh.” They both sounded absolutely devastated. “Well, then. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Jaime nodded, and walked on. Cersei exhaled. _What an idiot._

Brienne didn’t seem to be going anywhere. She stood there, leaning against the wall, seemingly unsure of what to do.

Before she knew what she was doing, Cersei was walking down the corridor towards Brienne, slowly so that it didn’t seem as though she was following her.

“Lady Brienne!” she said. “What a coincidence to find you here. I trust you’re well.”

Brienne paled a little at the sight of her, clearly recalling their last conversation at Joff’s wedding. “Y – Your Grace.” She dipped into an awkward curtsy.

“Oh, none of that,” Cersei said somewhat dismissively.

“I’m sorry.” Brienne stood upright. “What do you want?”

Cersei raised an eyebrow. “What do I want?”

Oh, gods, there was far too much suggestion loaded into that sentence. She needed to reel it in.

 _Reel it in? Reel what in?_ She was merely having a conversation, with her brother’s friend, who happened to be living in the same castle as she at that particular time. At best, trying to get a sense of the woman Jaime was in love with. That was all.

“I – I assumed that you required something from me. If you were to-” Brienne thinned her lips. “I’m sorry, Your Grace, for how I behaved at your son’s wedding – may he rest in peace.”

Oh, yes, their little conversation at the wedding. Cersei remembered thinking how ugly Brienne was, what a fool her brother was for rescuing her, how impertinent she was for loving him.

How long ago that all seemed. And how much it had impacted how Brienne spoke to her. Before, she had been much more confident – now she was clearly nervous.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Somehow, the words came out menacingly – Cersei unintentionally put that edge to her voice on that she always did when speaking to – well, anyone other than Jaime or her children, really.

“And I must give you my condolences for the loss of your son.”

“Tell me, Lady Brienne, why are you so nervous?”

“I – I don’t know what you mean, Your Grace.”

“Do I frighten you?” Cersei had no idea where she was going with this, but she wanted to press it further. To test Brienne, regardless of the consequences. “I know a lot of people in this court have some unpleasant things to say about me. Nothing they’d repeat in front of me, of course. I wouldn’t blame you if you’d picked up on that.”

“I am not scared of you, Your Grace.”

That was a lie. Everyone was scared of her, even Jaime, to some extent. Whether she liked that or not, Cersei wasn’t sure, but it did work to her advantage much of the time. Even if it did leave her a little lonely.

“But I can’t help but be a little intimidated,” she continued. Finally, some honesty from the girl.

“At Joff’s wedding, I asked you if you loved my brother,” Cersei said. “Is that true?”

Brienne’s eyes widened. Gods, she had pretty eyes. Like Blackwater Bay on a summer’s day. “I – Your Grace.”

“That’s not an answer.” Cersei stepped a little closer to Brienne, backing her into the wall somewhat. She had no idea why she was acting like this – shouldn’t the aim be to befriend Brienne, to get on better terms with her? But here she was, pressing her for a question both of them knew the answer to, using the steely voice she used at court proceedings and Small Council meetings. “Do you love him?”

“Do you?”

Cersei took a step back. Oh, this was good.

“I care about him very deeply,” she said. She internally kicked herself – why had she drawn out those last syllables so much, _fuck_ , Brienne was going to get the wrong idea. “Not as deeply as some people say, though. And I want to make sure…that he is making the right decision in pursuing you.”

There was something in Brienne’s confused but excited gaze that made Cersei’s insides twist, and her heart hammer a little harder against her ribs. Fuck that.

“Pursuing me?” The woman laughed a little. “Your Grace, I hardly think-”

“Oh, don’t play the fool with me. You’ve seen the way he drools over you, follows you around like a lost puppy.” She looked Brienne up and down with a flick of her eyes. “I’m starting to understand what he sees in you.” Brienne looked even more flustered – was that at the prospect of Jaime’s interest, or Cersei’s? Or both?

No. Cersei couldn’t afford to be self-indulgent.

“No matter what people say about me, I want my brother to be happy. Do you think you can do that for me, darling?”

 _Darling?! Darling?!_ What the fuck was _darling_? Where had that come from? No, no, _no,_ Cersei was the one fucking it all up and making a fool of herself.

She calmed herself internally. She couldn’t let the façade drop, not now.

“I – I don’t know what you are talking about. But…I also want Jaime to be happy. He’s been through a lot, and…” She started nodding slowly. “I can do that. For him. For you.”

Cersei could hear the tentativeness in Brienne’s voice, trying to discern if this was a trick, a trap, a test. It was all of those things, in reality, but not in the way Brienne might think.

“Thank you, Lady Brienne.” She paused for a second. “You know, I haven’t had a good friend in these halls in a long time.” She tilted her head a little, giving Brienne another once-over. “I think you could be a valuable acquaintance. Potentially.”

Seven hells, what was she talking about? Why was she acting like this?

Brienne nodded. “If you say so, Your Grace.”

The sound of footsteps broke Cersei out of her strange reverie.

“Brienne! Your Grace!”

Cersei froze. Oh, no. She was far too sober and far too riled up to deal with Margaery right now.

She turned around, and there her sort-of-stepdaughter was, smiling like a cat being presented with a rather large saucer of milk.

“Lady Margaery,” Cersei said, plastering her own simpering smile across her face. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just passing through. It’s lovely to see you both, though; I had no idea you were such good friends.”

Cersei looked Margaery up and down, choosing to ignore her comment. “Such a lovely dress. Though not entirely appropriate for mourning.” She was one to talk – when Robert died, she hadn’t bothered with black garments. But Margaery was an entirely different story.

Margaery looked down at her dress. “I know, but Tommen said he liked it, so I thought I would wear it to dinner tonight. To cheer him up.” She looked a little disappointed. “A silly idea, I know. I should go and change.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Cersei said. “Widowhood becomes you.”

Brienne opened her mouth, then closed it, clearly not sure what to make of this whole situation. “I – I’ll be going, then.”

“Oh, no, don’t worry.” Cersei took a step to the side. “I was just leaving anyways. I’ll see you tonight, Lady Margaery.”

Without another word, she walked away. It took all of her effort not to kick her foot into the wall – what had she been doing, talking to Brienne like that?

She sighed, and looked up at the ceiling helplessly. Even Jaime’s flustered stammering was better than what she had been doing. To be fair, she hadn’t been sure what version of herself she was trying to present to Brienne: the cold-blooded, steely queen she showed to the court, or the vulnerable, coquettish seductress she had learned to be in front of men she needed something from, or the real her she seemed to show only to Jaime and her children. She had become too confused to decide which façade to put up, and that had caused them to crash together in a confusing din.

But she had been right about one thing: she really hadn’t had a good friend in the Red Keep or anywhere else in a long time, not since she was a girl. And regardless of whether she harboured… _feelings_ towards the brute of a woman, she found herself warming to the idea of befriending her. Though she wasn’t sure how she was going to do that now.

**Brienne**

“You look lovely today, Brienne,” Margaery said.

Brienne dipped her head awkwardly. Of course she didn’t. “Thank you,” she said hesitantly, “although I must respectfully disagree.”

Margaery laughed, a kind, genuine sound. “If you don’t mind my saying, I’m sorry about my stepmother. She’s a lovely woman, really, once you get to know her, but she’s…a lot sometimes.”

Brienne got the impression that Margaery was lying through her teeth about some of that, but chose to ignore it. “I can see that,” she said. “She did have some strange things to say, about-”

She quickly closed her mouth. While she was sure she knew the reality of Jaime and Cersei’s relationship, she didn’t know if Margaery did, and realised that one wrong word could do unprecedented damage to Jaime’s life. And Cersei’s, and her children.

 _Their children?_ Brienne wasn’t quite sure.

“About politics,” she said, hoping she’d rectified the conversation. “I do believe she means well, though, as you say.”

Margaery looked around, somewhat conspicuously, and stepped a little closer to Brienne. “I fear I must warn you about her, Lady Brienne. She is…rather volatile, especially after what happened to poor Joffrey. Be careful around her. You have no idea what she’s capable of.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Just some advice, from a friend.” Margaery smiled at her, which made Brienne feel a little conflicted. It was clear that Margaery was a dear friend to her, and a useful one at that, but it would be foolish of her to turn down Cersei’s offer of friendship, even if it was a trick. She would be far more dangerous to have as an enemy.

“Now,” Margaery said, her tone lightening a little. “You must tell me about you and Jaime Lannister.”

Brienne gasped. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Why did everyone seem to think he loved her? It only served to make the feelings she begrudgingly harboured towards him worse, and put him farther out of reach. 

“Oh, come on.” Margaery nudged her gently with her elbow. “We’ve all seen you sparring in the yard. And he saved your life – how romantic!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Brienne said playfully, which stung a little. “And anyway, he’s in the Kingsguard. They can’t take lovers.”

Margaery tutted. “They cannot marry, and they cannot have children, but technically it’s not outlawed for them to…you know. Enjoy women – or men – from time to time.”

“And you’re suggesting Ser Jaime would want to…enjoy me?” It was a foolish suggestion.

“Do you want him to?”

“Lady Margaery!” Everyone seemed to be asking her impossible questions today, and Brienne had had quite enough of it.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Margaery said smugly. “Oh, you’re perfect for each other!”

“I am a brute twice the size of the average woman, and he is probably the most handsome man in all of the Seven Kingdoms. We are far from perfect for each other.”

“Oh, shush, Brienne. I won’t hear any more slander of your looks. You’re a beautiful woman – trust me, I’m an expert.”

“An expert in beautiful women?”

Margaery shrugged suggestively. “Some women like handsome men – some women like pretty girls. Or handsome girls, or pretty men. Or both.”

Brienne gaped. “Lady Margaery, are you – are you flirting with me?” She had heard of such things, women loving women as they would men. It hardly surprised her that Margaery, open-minded and experienced as she was, would fall into that category, but this –

“Oh, goodness, no. Unless you’d like me to.”

“I would not.”

“Then that’s settled.” Margaery looked out longingly. “Besides, my heart belongs to another.”

“King Tommen?”

“Lady Sansa.”

Brienne gaped at Margaery’s confession. So loud, so out in the open, where anyone could hear them – “Seriously?”

Margaery laughed. “Seriously. Can you tell I haven’t told anyone before? It’s been weighing me down.”

"Then why are you telling me?"

"You're my friend, Brienne. Friends tell each other things."

Why was everyone trying to be her friend today?

“It’s a shame she’s run away. You two would make a fine couple – if such a thing were to be allowed.”

“It wouldn't be.” Margaery leaned against the wall. “But you cannot tell anyone – especially not Her Grace. It wouldn’t do for me to be in love with a traitor.”

“I doubt anyone would believe me if I told them.”

Margaery nodded thoughtfully. “You know, Lady Brienne, you should think more highly of yourself. You are a wonderful woman, and you deserve to feel that way.”

“Do you think so?”

“Jaime Lannister certainly does!”

“Margaery!” Brienne said indignantly. “I would nudge you back if I weren’t sure it would send you to the floor.”

“I’m not joking. I’m sure he thinks so too.”

So, both Margaery and Cersei were trying to set her up with Ser Jaime, although Brienne still wasn’t sure which of them, if any, she could really trust. She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep up the pretence that she didn’t love him, and she knew that one day, it would drag her down.

Because if there was one thing she knew, it was that Jaime certainly didn’t love her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gahhh, Cersei! Gahhh, Brienne! Gahhh everyone, if I'm being honest. Thanks again for reading! Again, comments with feedback will be appreciated!  
> 


	4. Painfully Oblivious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime proves to be utterly unhelpful, even after Brienne makes her feelings clear, leaving Cersei to take matters into her own hands. Predictably, she takes them far further than planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for coming this far! Sorry this chapter is a bit long and took a bit longer to write.

**Jaime**

Jaime watched carefully as Brienne slipped her sword back into its hilt.

“Good practise,” she said nonchalantly. “You’re getting better – just watch your footwork.” She scoffed. “Gods, I never thought I’d be teaching the greatest swordsman in the realm how to fight.”

“Stranger things have happened,” Jaime said. “And besides, you’re probably the greatest swords _woman_ in the realm. Or swordsperson, now that I’m, well.” He indicated his golden hand. “Incapacitated.”

There was something unreadable in Brienne’s expression for a moment, and Jaime stared at her intently, trying to read it, but it passed, and he looked away. He put his own sword back into its hilt, and walked towards her.

“We’d better get back to the Keep,” he said. “It’ll be dark soon, and, well, you know what my sister’s like.” He bit his tongue, immediately regretting mentioning Cersei.

Brienne was silent for a moment.

“She spoke to me yesterday afternoon,” she said, somewhat hesitantly. “Cersei.”

Jaime’s stomach plummeted. Of course she had. She’d probably been listening in on their conversation – he knew she had his best interests at heart, probably, but he still resented her a little for it.

“Oh really?” he said, trying hard to cover up the nervousness in his voice. “What did she say?”

“She had…a lot of things to say. About you.”

Jaime swallowed. “Listen. Cersei…I love her dearly, but she’s a lot.”

Brienne rounded on him, which made him stumble back.

“First Margaery, and now you. You know, everyone seems to have a lot to say about Cersei, and everyone seems to think I can’t handle her. Why is that?”

Jaime looked up at her awkwardly, feeling ashamed and trying to hide that Brienne towering over him was, quite frankly, extremely hot. She was only two inches taller than him, but right now, she could have been a giant in front of him. She could have crushed him between her hands.

Once, he’d thought her height made her hideous. How things had changed.

She tilted her head, and he snapped back into reality, remembering that she’d asked him a question.

“I-”

“Is it true?”

“Is what true?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Kingslayer,” she said, and that _burned_. “Are you and Cersei-”

“Look, whatever she’s told you-”

“You want to know what she told me?” Brienne thundered. “She told me that you were pursuing me. She called you a lost puppy or something. I – do you love her?”

Gods above, had she told Brienne that he loved her? He was going to murder her when he next saw her. She had no right to do that.

Jaime inhaled deeply. “It’s complicated.”

“I’ve got time.”

“She – yes. Well. Me and her, we used to, you know.” He tried to think of an appropriate way to describe it. “I don’t want to say we used to fuck each other, because it was more than fucking. Or we thought it was. It…the point is, we realised that it wasn’t good for either of us. And we...parted ways.”

“Is this true?”

“Why would I lie to you?”

“Why is Cersei hounding me, then?”

“Did she want something from you?” Perhaps Cersei was jealous of Brienne, which was understandable. She’d seemed just as committed to their separation as he had been, but it was natural for those feelings to linger. Even if she had said she would try and help him win her over, which only made things more confusing.

Brienne’s mesmerising eyes flitted upwards. “She said…she said that she wanted to make sure you were making the right decision in pursuing me. And that…I think she wanted to be friends with me? I’m not sure what she meant. I thought it was a trick, or a trap, to get me to leave you alone, so she could, you know.” Her expression darkened. “ _Fuck_ you.”

“You already knew that we were-”

“You were half-dead and traumatised when you told me that. I wanted to get my facts straight.”

Jaime sighed. “I don’t know what Cersei wants from you. She’s always been difficult to understand.”

“Well, is it true? What she said?”

Jaime didn’t know how to respond.

“Are you pursuing me, Jaime? Because if you’re not, then your sister is clearly trying to drag me down and ruin my fucking life, and I can’t deal with that.”

Jaime looked up at her. He still had no idea what to say, he hadn’t expected this to come so quickly, in reality hadn’t expected it to come at all, he had just thought that he would deal with his feelings on his own and Brienne would just continue to exist, but then Cersei, stupid, brilliant Cersei had to get involved and ruin –

Then their lips were touching.

Jaime wasn’t sure when it had happened, or who had initiated. He wasn’t sure which of them was pulling in closer, making it more passionate, tightening their embrace. There was a hand on the back of his head and fingers raking through his hair and _Brienne,_ he was kissing _Brienne…_

He pulled away from her suddenly, painfully aware of the openness of the sparring pit and that anyone could be watching them.

She looked absolutely petrified, her big blue eyes drowning in fear.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I – I didn’t mean to-”

Jaime silenced her by pulling her in again, and then she had her hand in his hair again, and he had his hands on the back of her neck, and the golden one must have been uncomfortable and cold but she didn’t care, and he didn’t care either. It was just the two of them, with the rest of the world blurring around them, and as he kissed her more deeply and more warmly he didn’t care who saw them and what they thought.

**Cersei**

“So you’re telling me,” she said, pacing the length of her bedroom, “that you kissed her – no, she kissed _you_ – and you’re still not sure if she’s in love with you?”

Jaime was lying on her bed like an invalid, arms propped up on his stomach. _Sick with love_ , she thought for a second.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he insisted.

“It is not.” She had half a mind to dismiss him from her chambers completely, but didn’t want to leave him on his own. _Lost puppy_ had been right, she thought.

“I can’t believe you told her!”

“Don’t I get a thank you?” She sat down on the bed next to him. “Sit up, you look pathetic. If I hadn’t told her, you wouldn’t have been kissing her in the sparring yard half an hour ago!”

Jaime sighed, and sat up straight. “Thank you,” he said reluctantly. “I’m not sure I’ll be enlisting you as a matchmaker again any time soon.”

“Hopefully, there won’t be another woman after Brienne.” Or man, she thought, thinking of Oberyn. Of herself?

No. Not of herself. Not at all.

“You want me to marry her?”

“Do you want to marry her?”

“I don’t-” Jaime sighed, clearly out of frustration. “Yes?”

“There you go,” Cersei said triumphantly. It was almost a relief to her, to hear that Brienne had kissed him. She and Jaime would get together, and then Cersei wouldn’t have to think about the beautiful brute of a woman any longer. Brienne of Tarth would, at long last, be dispelled from her thoughts.

“Well, if I’m going to marry her, can you please try not to scare her shitless? She thought you were trying to trick her.”

Cersei thinned her lips. “I can see how that could have come across.” Looking back on their conversation, she’d had absolutely no idea what she was saying. Her mouth had taken on a mind of its own, and she barely remembered the words she’d spoken. “And she does seem quite afraid of me. More so than before.”

“She thinks you’re jealous.”

 _Oh, I am_ , she thought. _Just not of who you think._

“Had you told her?”

Jaime gave that little half-shrug he always did when he was guilty. “I might have…let it slip while we were on the Kingsroad. But she said she still wasn’t sure.”

“And let me guess, you told her the truth?”

Jaime was silent. Of course he had.

“Jaime!” Cersei said indignantly. “You really are the stupidest Lannister.”

“Excuse me,” he said, sitting upright, “you’re just as stupid as I am.”

“We both know that’s not true.”

“You, Cersei, have the gift of being both incredibly intelligent, and completely lacking in any common sense whatsoever. At least I’m committed to my stupidity.”

He wasn’t wrong.

They were half-arguing, half-not, which felt strange without the underlying sexual tension between them. Was this what having a normal sibling relationship was like?

 _There is no such thing as a normal sibling relationship,_ she thought to herself. _But maybe for the first time, I’m closer to one with Jaime than I am with Tyrion._

“Oh, and I told Tyrion,” Jaime said, eerily close to reading her mind.

“About what?”

“About us parting ways. And about Brienne.”

“What did he say?”

“He didn’t believe me. He said, give us two weeks and another death in the family, and we’d be back at it again.”

Cersei sneered. “How inappropriate.” Tyrion had always been so crude.

“He isn’t wrong. And it wouldn’t hurt for you to be a little less harsh on him. He is most likely going to his death, if Father has anything to say about it.”

It took Cersei a few seconds to register what he was saying. She had been so focused on trying to find the Stark girl, she had almost forgotten that Tyrion was also being tried for Joffrey’s murder. And that she would be expected to testify at his trial.

“I don’t think I’m going to his trial,” she said, the idea coming out of her mouth before it had even fully formed inside her mind.

Jaime’s eyes lit up. “You’re not going to testify?”

Cersei sighed, once again endlessly conflicted. “I’m sure Father can make a compelling case without me. Besides, I’m not even sure if he killed Joff anymore.”

That was a lie. Why had she said that? She knew Tyrion and that traitorous wolf-bitch had killed her son.

 _It’s what Jaime would want you to do._ Fuck what Jaime wanted. He loved their brother, and she didn’t, and they had always known that. She wasn’t doing this to please him, or please anyone. She was sure that her father could have Tyrion sent to his death, and then Jaime or Brienne wouldn’t blame her for –

She caught the word in her mind as she thought it. _Brienne?_

 _It’s what Brienne would want you to do._ An absurd thought, really, but deep down she knew it was true. 

How long had she known Brienne for, and for how much of that time had she resented and despised her? Why, now, was the brutish wench having such an impact on her psyche?

_Oh, you know why. The same reason why Jaime’s fawning over her and kissing her in the sparring pit. You love her._

“Are you alright, Cersei?” Jaime said, sounding genuinely concerned. 

“What?” His comment caught Cersei off guard. “Oh. Yes. Everything’s just been so overwhelming recently.”

Oh, great job, Cersei. Play the wounded puppy. That won’t look suspicious at all. 

“I know,” Jaime said. “And I know that Father didn’t exactly do a good job of raising children who could talk about their feelings, but if you ever-”

“For fuck’s sake, Jaime, do I look that pathetic?” she all but hissed. 

Jaime recoiled a little. “No! I just...I’m allowed to care about you, aren’t I?”

Cersei shook her head. “You don’t need to worry about me, and neither does anyone. So leave it.”

Jaime sighed. “You are difficult.”

“Good. Now, back to Brienne.” She allowed herself a little smile, trying to get Jaime to think she was truly happy for him.

Which she was. In her own way. But what a strange way that was.

About five hours later, Cersei couldn’t sleep.

She’d never been very good at easing herself off to sleep, with or without drinking, no matter how tired she had felt earlier or what kind of day she’d had. Regardless of the situation, the thoughts in her mind had a way of keeping her up into the early hours and stopping her body from getting the rest it needed.

It wasn’t often she decided to go for a midnight stroll, and it was even less often that she wasn’t bothered to get dressed for one. But it felt right that night, and she didn’t have the mental or physical energy to dress herself up for anyone else to see. 

The serene, dark blue haze that smothered the palace gardens between sunset and sunrise had always had an element of peace for Cersei, and the silence was always welcome. King’s Landing seemed to suffer from an excess of speech - advisors whispering in her son’s ear, the people spreading malicious rumours about her and any man she so much as looked at, the never-ending chatter of whores and servant girls and Margaery. 

Jaime had once said that he would destroy the whole world until it was just him and her. Cersei wouldn’t mind doing the same, just for herself, if it meant she could have this sense of peace and stillness all of the time.

This aforementioned peace was disrupted when Cersei spotted a figure lurking on the path, seemingly waiting for her. 

A chill spread through her body - shit, shit, she shouldn’t have come out, not unguarded, not without even a knife or anything to protect her. She was going to -

“Lady Brienne?” Cersei squinted at the figure as she walked closer to it, suddenly making out her distinguished features. “What are you doing at this time of night?”

“I could say the same about you,” she said, that confident tone somewhat returned to her voice. _Good,_ Cersei thought. _It was a shame to see her whimper and grovel like that._ “I’m sorry, Your Grace, but I spotted you from across the path, and I had to speak to you.”

“Is it so important that it can’t wait until morning?” Cersei said, though a part of her was desperate to find out what Brienne wanted. Not a part of her. All of her.

“Perhaps not, but...I spoke to Jaime.” She took a deep breath. “And I realised that you were being sincere.”

“Is that an apology, Lady Brienne?” 

“I suppose so.” 

Cersei looked up at Brienne - gods, how far up she was, almost a foot taller than Cersei - and immediately looked back down again. Her face was softly illuminated in the moonlight, and while she was objectively ugly, in that moment she could have been the greatest beauty to ever grace the Seven Kingdoms. The kind of maiden men would write songs about and sing them for generations-

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek hard. 

“One thing you should know, Brienne,” she said cautiously, “is that my brother is an idiot. I love him very dearly, but he is painfully oblivious. I take it that you are in love with him?”

Brienne gulped. “Your Grace-”

“I’ll take that as a yes, then. And he is madly in love with you.” As am I, apparently. “There’s no getting around that fact. What I need you to do, is make it undeniably clear about how you feel. Because, I am telling you, he will not get the hint otherwise. Trust me.” A snarky comment about how she should know, she’d had years of experience, popped into her head, but she swallowed it back. 

Brienne frowned. “But I-”

“Kissed him in the sparring pit, I know. And he kissed you back. Like I said, painfully oblivious.”

“So what should I do?”

 _Oh, excellent. Now I’m playing matchmaker for both of them._ “Just tell him. Walk right up to him and say that you love him. Spell it out to him if you must. Write him a poem, I don’t know.”

“If only it were that easy for the rest of us, Your Grace.”

“Whatever do you mean?” 

Brienne cast her eyes over Cersei’s face, and they flitted downwards. “Look at you, then look back at me. We’re not all great beauties like you are.”

Cersei was grateful Brienne couldn’t see her flush in the darkness. For the first time, she didn’t know how to respond to a compliment. “You are beautiful, Brienne.”

Fuck. Fuck. What the fuck? What was she thinking? 

Brienne froze. “And I was so certain this wasn’t a trick.”

“No!” When was the last time she had been so nice to someone, genuinely nice, without wanting something in return? When was the last time she had spoken to another woman like this, guard down, claws retracted? “You and I might not be beautiful in the same way, but you are quite remarkable.” She tried to stop herself, reel it in, but something made her want to keep going. She wanted to make Brienne feel good about herself. “Have you ever looked at your eyes, in a looking-glass? I’ve never seen anything like them. And evidently, neither has Jaime.”

“I - I don’t know what to say.”

“Neither does my brother. But he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen - I know that unquestionably - he just can’t find a way to express it.”

Cersei took a gulp of fresh night air. This was turning out to be a most unusual stroll. 

“You know, a lot of people have a lot of terrible things to say about you, Your Grace.”

Cersei scoffed. “That I’m a manipulative, soul-sucking,brother-fucking bitch?”

“I - I don’t-”

“Of course they say that about me. Because it’s true. Well. Not the brother-fucking part, anymore.” She turned to look at Brienne, and this time, she managed to hold her gaze. “But I meant what I said. I am coming to rather like you, Lady Brienne. Besides, I do rather admire you.” Did she? “Not many women can fight like you can. It must take a lot of courage to do that. I suppose I respect you, in some way.”

Cersei hadn’t even realised that was true before she’d vocalised it. Once the words were out of her mouth, memories came back to her of being a young girl, clutching Jaime’s toy sword away from the watchful eye of her father, play-fighting with her brother and pretending to be a mighty knight, just like she knew he would grow up to be one day. She had always wanted to be queen, that much was true, but a part of her had wanted to keep that sword, to be a fierce warrior and not a simpering wife. 

“Well, any woman could learn to fight, if she so wished. It takes practise, and like you said, courage, but anyone could do that.”

“Even me?” She hadn’t meant for those words to sound so hopeful. 

Brienne eyed her carefully. “Yes. Even - even you, Your Grace.”

“Teach me.” It was a command, not a question. She knew Brienne wouldn’t dare disobey her. 

“I - wh - are you sure? Wouldn’t people - people would-”

“Oh, fuck them. What are they going to do? Lock me up and take my head for playing with a sword? I am the Queen, and I will do as I wish.”

Cersei couldn’t make out her features, but Brienne looked almost hopeful. Excited by the prospect, even. 

Perhaps she was just like her, and hadn’t had a proper female friend in a long time. Perhaps they needed each other in that way, needed that companionship. Though Brienne certainly didn’t need Cersei in the way Cersei needed her. 

This was an absolutely terrible idea, she knew that. But she was going to do it anyway, because she could. Because she needed to. 

“Alright then.” Brienne nodded decisively. “When should we start?”

“Tomorrow.”

Brienne opened her mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. “Tomorrow it is.”

Cersei smirked in the darkness, not quite sure what at, and not quite sure what she was playing at. 

As they walked on, though, a terrible sinking feeling settled in her chest, as she came to terms with the fact that Oberyn had been completely right about her and how she felt about Brienne.

Maybe Jaime wasn't the only Lannister who was painfully oblivious. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments with feedback would be greatly appreciated!


	5. When Opportunity Knocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei and Brienne begin their swordfighting lessons, and Jaime and Brienne begin...something else. Cersei makes a most convenient discovery, and she begins to hatch a plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I love Margaery and Sansa with all my heart. But, alas, Cersei does not, and that's reflected in this chapter. Sorry about that.

**Cersei**

Cersei felt giddy with excitement all that morning, even if she was incredibly tired from staying up so late the night before. She’d had no idea what time it was when she returned to her chambers, and concentrating in the Small Council meeting had been difficult, even more so than when she’d woken up with the most vicious of hangovers. Still, she couldn’t help but anticipate her meeting with Brienne, although she still felt a hollow pit forming in her gut at the earlier realisation that, yes, she was falling in love with her, and no, she didn’t know what to do about it.

“Are you seriously wearing that?” Brienne’s eyebrows shot up as she saw Cersei strolling towards her. “You could have worn something a little more liberating.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “I’m sorry, we don’t all have a spare suit of armour lying around. And this dress is perfectly liberating.” She looked down at her black mourning dress. “Although far less so than the scraps of fabric Lady Margaery waltzes around in.”

Brienne clearly didn’t like that comment, but she said nothing about it. “You could have at least borrowed something of Jaime’s.”

“Ah, yes, because me walking around in his clothes would just do wonders for both of our reputations.”

Brienne seemed to concede. “I don’t suppose you’ve brought your own sword, either?”

“Do I look like an armourer to you?” Cersei noted that the confidence in Brienne’s tone was growing by the second. What that meant, she wasn’t entirely sure.

“You’re lucky I carry two..” Brienne handed Cersei a rather rusty-looking weapon. “It’s not too heavy, but the balance is off. You could borrow Jaime’s next time.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows at Brienne, who flushed a little. “On your mind today, is he?”

“No,” Brienne said bashfully. “Well. Perhaps.”

Cersei allowed herself a laugh. “Try not to get too distracted, Lady Brienne.”

Brienne raised her sword. “I’m not the one who needs to stay away from distractions right now.”

 _Oh, you have no idea how much of a distraction you are,_ Cersei thought, and for once in her miserable life her thoughts didn’t jump out of her mouth unbidden.

Cersei turned her attention to the sword in her hand. Brienne was right, it wasn’t hard to lift, but it felt a little strange in her grip. The feeling was alien, but brought back a wave of nostalgia, to fighting with Jaime at Casterly Rock before her father plucked the sword from her hand and told her no man would ever want her if she didn’t learn to be a little more ladylike.

Fuelled by this sudden wave of anger, Cersei lunged for Brienne, who ducked, alarmed.

“Seven hells!” the woman shouted, bringing her hands towards her face. “Are you trying to kill me?”

Cersei’s face fell. “I – I thought-”

“Don’t just swing it aimlessly at me. Find your balance.”

“If I was on a battlefield, I would be trying to kill you.”

“You’re not on a battlefield. This is sparring, Your Gr – Cersei.” Cersei had never heard Brienne say her name before, unprompted, and it brought back the incessant pounding in her chest.

“How about I swing, first, and you try to deflect me?”

Cersei nodded, once again distracted. “Go on.”

Brienne swung her sword upwards and towards Cersei, clearly going easy on her. In that split second, Cersei tried to recall how Jaime fought, how he moved his sword.

Her arm came upwards and her sword slashed through the air, hitting Brienne’s with a satisfying thunk.

Cersei stared up at Brienne down her blade, resisting the urge to put her sword under her chin and tilt it upwards. Partly because she knew it would be inappropriate, and partly because she knew she could never get it under there with Brienne’s skill. “You were going easy on me.”

“Do you want me to cut your head off?”

Cersei shrugged.

“You can’t expect to become a master swordswoman in under an hour. It took me years to learn, and I did when I was younger. Things are always easier when you’re younger.”

“So what do I have to do?”

Brienne thought for a second. “I can bring you some dummies next time, if you’d like, and you can practise on them.”

Cersei was momentarily disappointed. “So I won’t be sparring with you?”

“Oh, you will.” Brienne raised her sword. “Would you like to try once more?”

Cersei raised her own. “Of course, my lady.”

She tried to mimic Brienne’s stance. One foot in front of the other, and sword across her body, leaning back and forth from one foot to the other.

Brienne lunged, and Cersei swung – somewhat clumsily, and she lost her footing, but she managed to knock Brienne’s sword away. Brienne looked somewhat surprised, and she spun and moved the sword in a downwards motion.

“You don’t have to stay still,” Brienne said, mid-lunge. “Move around a bit more.”

Cersei nodded, and ducked back as Brienne lunged towards her. She gave a lunge of her own, and the movement was stiff and jerky, but Brienne didn’t look too disappointed and ducked out of the way.

“Not bad,” she said. “Move it a little bit faster – not too far in, though. Imagine you’re cutting through the air.”

Cersei did so, and she hit Brienne’s sword again. With a few missteps, and knowing she was going far more slowly than any knight ever would, they kept going, their swords eventually finding a slow, steady rhythm against each other. Brienne was an incredibly forceful fighter, grunting and hacking in a way Cersei previously might have found unseemly, but Jaime had been right. She was damn good at what she did, and she would be lying if it wasn’t incredibly attractive.

“You could be very good,” Brienne said, after they’d both put their swords down. “I mean, I am still going very easy on you, but you’ve got a good mixture of gracefulness and aggression.”

Cersei suppressed a beaming smile, allowing a cocky smirk to take its place on her face. “Do you think so?”

“Of course. With practise, obviously.” She looked a little less confident now, clearly having been given a boost from being in her element. “Would you like to keep this up?”

“I would,” Cersei said. “And I could practise with Jaime. We could help each other to learn.” 

Brienne shrunk back at the mention of Jaime. “What time is it?”

Cersei frowned. “I don’t have a clue. Well beyond midday, though.”

“Shit.” Brienne sheathed her sword urgently.

“What?”

She looked very flustered all of a sudden. “I - I have to go.”

She walked off back to the Red Keep, clearly in a hurry. 

“Wait!” Cersei shouted after her. “You left your other sword!”

She held up the offending weapon, but Brienne was out of earshot by the time she’d realised she’d left it. Cersei would just have to return it to her later.

Cersei knocked impatiently on Brienne’s door. “Brienne?” The sword felt awkward in her hand, as she didn’t have a sheath to put it in. She had gained a few odd looks as she had walked through the hallways, but she knew no one would dare say anything. Especially when she was holding a weapon. 

There was still no reply. Maybe she wasn’t in, and Cersei should go back later. “Brienne?” She pressed her ear to the door, trying to discern if she was in there. 

No, the room certainly wasn’t empty. As Cersei pressed against the door, she realised it wasn’t locked, and as her head breached the doorway, she heard a strange sound coming from the inside of the room. 

Was Brienne...crying? 

“Brienne?” Cersei poked her head around the door, hoping she wasn’t intruding too much. “Are you all right-”

Her blood froze and she stumbled back as she saw what was on the bed. Or rather, who. 

_Not crying. Not crying. Not crying._

“Seven fucking hells!” she shouted, immediately covering her eyes. She heard a gasp and a thud, one that sounded all too familiar. 

“Cersei!” Jaime said, clearly absolutely mortified. “We were - we were-”

“Oh, gods,” Brienne said. 

“I’m not looking!” she shouted, a little too loudly. Would it be appropriate to back away now?

“Cersei, wait-” She heard Jaime get off the bed. 

“Put on a fucking shirt!” 

“It’s nothing you haven’t seen before!”

“JAIME!” Of all the things to say in front of Brienne. What an idiot. 

“Uncover your eyes - I’ll be right back, Brienne.” 

Cersei shook her head, thoroughly traumatised. She felt Jaime’s hand pry her own away from her eyes, and she took in his - mercifully clothed - body in front of her. 

“Have you never heard of locking the fucking door?” she yelled. Her eyes flitted to Brienne behind him, who was also in a state of undress, though it was clear they hadn’t actually been fucking yet. She quickly looked away again, ignoring the jolt of desire which had warmed her stomach. 

“I could have been anyone! I could have been Father!”

“Cersei, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have - you didn’t need to-”

“Well, what was your plan? To throw me out of the fucking window?”

Jaime glowered at her. “Really?”

“What?” Brienne said. 

“Nothing!” the twins said in unison. 

“Look, Cersei, calm down.”

“I am perfectly calm!” Cersei yelled, decidedly not perfectly calm. Brienne was pulling on her own clothes now, clearly just as mortified as Cersei was. 

“I - are you angry at me?”

“Angry? Why the fuck would I be angry?” She did realise that her tone sounded a little angry, but come on. That was just how she sounded, most of the time. “The only way I’ll be angry is if the two of you haven’t figured out that you’re in love with each other and you’re not just aimlessly chasing each other in circles.”

“Well, clearly…” Jaime gestured towards Brienne. “We- yes. You, um, don’t need to be angry.”

Cersei nodded. “Right.”

“Right.”

“I’ll be going now.”

“All right, then.”

“See you later.” She motioned her hands stiffly, and immediately wished she hadn’t. “Carry on.”

“Carry on?” Brienne said, awkwardly.

“I mean. If you want. I-”

“Cersei. Get out.”

“Yes! Yes. Goodbye.”

She closed the door with a slam, and a sharp exhale. 

“And lock it this time!” she called after them, before walking away. 

Jaime approached her again, a few hours later, when it was getting dark. “I am so, so sorry-”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for,” Cersei replied, although her tone said differently. 

Jaime gave her a questioning look. “You know, I don’t blame you.”

Even though she knew that wasn’t what he meant, a chill ran down Cersei’s spine. Shit. He knew. “Blame me for what?” At least her voice wasn’t shaky. 

“For being jealous.” He took a step away from her. 

Cersei looked at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Cersei, I understand. I know this transition has been difficult for both of us, and it’s natural for these...feelings to stay with us, even if we don’t want to act upon them, but-”

Cersei scoffed, partly to cover up her relief. “You think - you think I’m jealous of Brienne? That I’m still attracted to you?”

“Shhh!” Jaime said. “This is a public place!” He lowered his voice slightly. “So what was that all about?”

Cersei threw her hands up in frustration. “Would you want to walk in on _me_ fucking Brienne?” 

Shit, shit, _shit,_ why had she phrased it like that?

Jaime raised his eyebrows cockily. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind…”

Cersei nudged him sharply in the ribs. “My point was, it’s always awful to walk in on that sort of thing. You are _disgusting_.”

“As are you, my darling sister.”

She rolled her eyes. “Remind me why it took me so long to come to my senses and leave you alone?”

“Because I’m handsome and charming, and any maiden in the Seven Kingdoms would be lucky to have me?” 

Cersei laughed. “You wish.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, which of us-”

Cersei’s attention was diverted by a movement out of the corner of her eye. She whipped her head around to see a handmaiden standing frozen in the corridor, eyeing Cersei and Jaime curiously. Cersei had no idea how long she had been standing there, but the stupid girl froze to the spot the second Cersei saw her. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” Cersei said, her voice suddenly filling itself with authority and threat. 

The girl trembled pathetically. “My - my Queen, I was just-”

“You were just what?” Cersei sneered at her. “Out of my sight. Now.”

“But-”

“I’m sorry, do you value your head?” She wasn’t going to kill the girl or anything, not really, but the events of earlier burned in her mind so much that this almost felt cathartic. “Would you like me to have it removed from your shoulders? Is that it?”

“N - no-”

“Then get out of my sight!” Cersei pointed vaguely down the corridor.

The girl nodded meekly and scurried away.

“Was that really necessary?” Jaime said. 

“Of course it was,” Cersei replied. There was a warning in his expression, but she chose to ignore it. 

“People will talk.” 

“Am I not allowed to have a conversation with my brother now?” Cersei threw her hands up in the air. “It’s not like they’ve got anything to talk about, now, anyway. Speaking of which…” She had to divert the subject now. Jaime clearly hadn’t liked what she said to that girl, and there would be that animosity between them for a few days or so if she let him dwell on it. “How was it?”

“What?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten already. And you seemed to be having so much fun.”

Jaime flushed. “Oh. Um…”

“Please tell me you carried on after I left. I don’t think I could live with myself if you didn’t.”

“We did.” He looked incredibly embarrassed. Clearly, he wasn’t used to talking about this sort of thing.

“So, she’s no longer the Maid of Tarth, then?” 

His eyes widened. “Cersei!”

She let out a laugh. “I’ll take that as a yes, then. Come on. Like you said, it’s nothing I haven’t heard or seen before.”

Was she being inappropriate? She couldn’t tell.

“It was...good. She seemed to enjoy it.” He was clearly trying to suppress a grin. 

“I would hope so. I didn’t put in all that effort for neither of you to enjoy yourselves.”

“Will you stop being so crude?” His tone was serious now. Cersei had to back down, no matter how much she was secretly enjoying discussing Brienne. She knew she should have felt at least a little disgusting, thinking about her like that, but at this point she knew it would take a lot to make her disgusted at herself or anything else.

“All right,” she said, giving him what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “But I mean it. I’m glad you two managed to figure it out in the end.” _Am I?_

“Thank you.” He leaned further into the wall. “You know, she mentioned you.”

 _Seven hells._ “Do you mean during the fucking?” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“No. Before.” 

“Ah.”

“She said she’d been teaching you swordfighting.” _Oh, that._ “What made you want to do that?”

_Because I’m in love with the woman you just-_

Cersei shrugged. “I used to like it, when we were younger. I thought taking it up again would make me happy.”

Jaime grinned. “She said you and I should practise sometimes. That we could help each other.”

Did Brienne really care about her that much, or at all? “I think that’s a good idea. We could learn together, actually.” She bit the inside of her cheek. “Although I wouldn’t want to detract from your lessons with her. I’m sure she has _plenty_ to teach you.”

“Me neither. I mean, I think it’s good that you’re spending time together. It’s been ages since you had a good friend. As long as you promise not to do anything horrible to her.”

“Please. When have I ever done anything horrible to any of my friends?” Jaime opened his mouth. “I was being sarcastic.”

“Oh.” 

Cersei frowned, scanning his face with her eyes. There was something off, a nervous energy she hadn’t taken the time to detect before. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

His eyes widened. “Are you sure you can’t read my mind?”

“I’m sure. And if I could, I wouldn’t want to.” She made a repulsed face. “So what is it, then?”

Jaime sighed. “I really shouldn’t be telling you this. But Brienne told me...something.”

Cersei’s ears pricked up. 

“About Lady Margaery.”

 _Oh._ “Go on.”

“It’s...nothing. I just...I feel like you have the right to know, and if it could be useful to you, I wouldn’t want to keep it-”

“Spit it _out.”_

“She told me that Lady Margaery...I’m not sure. It didn’t make sense, but - that she was in love with Sansa Stark?”

“What?”

“I know. I mean, I know that there are women who like other women-” of course you do, your sister’s one on them - “but Margaery? And Sansa? And - your face is doing that expression.”

“What expression?”

“When you start to get an idea. You’re smirking.”

“I am not-” She stopped in her tracks. A plot began to form in her mind, as she processed the information.

“There it is again.”

If Margaery was in love with Sansa, and Sansa just so happened to return to King’s Landing, say, in one piece, then that would create endless complications for her relationship with Tommen. If Sansa returned her feelings, then the Tyrell whore would be too distracted to plot against her, and if word about them just so happened to get out, if it needed to, then poor Margaery’s reputation would never recover, being with a woman and a traitor, and Tommen would be devastated, but oh, he would never trust her again, and he would have no one but his mother to listen to, and -

“Cersei? Cersei?” Jaime waved his hand in front of her face. 

“What?” She blinked. She had zoned out, her thoughts almost too nebulous to be contained. “Sorry. I must have...spaced out.” 

“What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing! Nothing.” She tried to straighten out her smirk. “It’s just funny, that’s all.” 

“You’re plotting something, aren’t you?”

“Me? Plotting? You must be thinking of someone else.” She felt that unfamiliar twinge of guilt again at the idea of doing something Brienne wouldn’t like, but in a way, she was doing her a favour. And she would be so grateful when Sansa was returned alive, and she would think Cersei was so merciful and maybe not such an awful person after all, and she would simply have to thank her queen for being so kind, for helping -

“Cersei! You’re doing it again!”

“Sorry! Sorry.” She blinked several times, trying to blot out the thoughts that had just come into her mind. “I have to go.”

“Where?” 

“To send a raven.” If it wasn’t too late, which she knew it probably wasn’t, she would have to ask her men to bring back Sansa Stark alive and unscathed.

It looked like she would be playing the matchmaker once again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments would be appreciated <3


	6. Arrivals and Proposals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa Stark returns to King’s Landing, creating a whole world of complications. Ellaria makes an unusual suggestion, and Cersei finds comfort in the last person she expected to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a fair bit of POV jumping around going on here, so sorry about that. This is also the first time we get the POV of someone who isn’t one of our main three, which isn’t something which will happen too much, but I just wanted to get a few different perspectives into this story. And I know the timeline is a bit wiggly, but I think we can assume that events separate from each other don’t necessarily take place in the linear order that they are shown on the show.

**Brienne**

Brienne was standing at her window, looking over the city of King’s Landing. It was so different from what she was used to in the tranquility of Tarth, with its still waters and quiet port, and it was always noisy, even at night. She wondered if people ever stopped talking in this city, or if she just wasn’t attuned to the hustle and bustle here.

And the smell. She would never get used to the smell. 

Suddenly, the crowd on the street parted, and all their heads turned in one direction, up the road. She leaned forwards to see what the people were all looking at, gripping the edge of her window. 

Was that...Podrick? And Jaime’s friend Bronn?

They rode side by side, in front of what looked like a carriage. The people in the streets were craning their necks to try and see what, or who was inside. 

A jolt of realisation hit her as she put two and two together, thinking back to what Podrick and Bronn had been sent north to do. _Lady Sansa._

Her feet carried her out of her bedroom before she’d even thought about it. 

“Lady Margaery!” 

Margaery turned around, her hair curling demurely over her shoulders. “Brienne? What is it?”

Brienne panted slightly. She had run as fast as she could through the palace to try and find her. “It’s Sansa.”

Margaery paled. “What?” There was a tremble in her voice. 

“She’s back. Or at least, Podrick and Bronn are.”

“Shit,” she breathed. “Is she...is she…”

“I don’t know. But I don’t think she’s dead.”

“You don’t think?” Margaery walked towards her, and even though Brienne had a good foot or so on her, she still felt herself cowering from the ferocity of her expression. “That doesn’t sound very certain.”

“I’m sorry!” Brienne said. “I’m sorry. But Jaime...he told me Cersei had sent a raven to them so they wouldn’t kill her.”

“What?”

“I-”

Margaery shook her head. “Don’t you get it?” She clasped Brienne’s hand desperately. “If Cersei wants her alive, that’s even worse. It means she wants something from her.”

“How much worse can it be?”

“It can always be worse with Cersei.”

“Don’t tell me she’s got her claws in you too.” Margaery pulled her clammy hands away from Brienne’s. “I told you that nothing good ever comes of her.”

“Can’t you give her the benefit of the doubt?” Brienne had no idea why she was defending Cersei, of all people. She didn’t even know if she could trust her, although she wanted to. And even if she couldn’t trust Cersei, she could trust Jaime, and he wouldn’t lie to her. Right? 

Margaery didn’t even respond to that. “I’m going down there.”

“Lady M-” Brienne called after her, but it was no use. She was already halfway down the stairs, running down to the steps of the palace to meet her.

Brienne sighed, and followed her. 

**Cersei**

For all her deliberating and plotting, Cersei genuinely had no idea what she was going to do when Sansa arrived. Up until the previous day, the plan had been _kill her on sight_ , but she couldn’t do that now. She had made her bed, and now she was going to lie in it - and besides, with Tommen and Margaery’s wedding coming up soon, she had to throw whatever she could at the Tyrell bitch to stop her from crawling her way to the throne. 

But what to do with the Stark girl? She couldn’t throw her in prison, and she couldn’t kill her. She couldn’t even convict her - for now, she would grit her teeth and say she knew Sansa didn’t have anything to do with it. 

Cersei stopped in her tracks as she saw Brienne running down the steps across from her, down to the streets where Sansa was being brought to the keep. 

“Brienne!” she shouted, and the woman’s head perked up. 

“Cersei?” Both of them sped up. Sansa’s carriage wasn’t far away now. 

“What are you doing here?”

Brienne panted as she stopped a few feet in front of Cersei. “I came - Margaery-”

She pointed out into the street, where a streak of brown and turquoise was running down to greet Podrick and Bronn. 

Cersei grimaced internally.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

Brienne held out a hand towards the street. “You know what I mean. Letting Sansa live.”

“I’ve had a change of heart,” Cersei said, and Brienne looked for all the world like she didn’t buy it. She was a lot of things, that woman, but she wasn’t naive. 

“I know that’s not true,” Brienne said. She swallowed hard, looking incredibly conflicted. “But if - as long as you don’t - will she be safe?”

Harsh words dissolved on Cersei’s tongue. “She will be safe. She will be a political prisoner, as she previously was, but I will not hurt her.” _Intentionally. Without reason, at least._

Brienne exhaled, and Cersei clenched her teeth. Gods, she looked so beautiful in the sunlight. But she had bigger things to worry about right now.

Both of them turned to look down at the street, where Margaery was running towards Sansa’s carriage, darting through the crowds of smallfolk.

“Should we go down?” Brienne asked. 

Cersei watched with a suppressed smirk as Sansa stepped out of the carriage and Margaery pulled her into a warm embrace.

“No,” she said, trying not to load her words with meaning. “I don’t think I will.”

**Sansa**

Sansa Stark hasn’t seen a friendly face for miles upon miles. Ever since departing King’s Landing, she’d had only Littlefinger for company, and no matter how much he had taught her and aided her and pretended to be her friend, she had always felt uneasy around him. She had lied to him when she said she didn’t know what he wanted - she knew exactly what he wanted, and it repulsed her.

She had almost felt grateful, the day they were planning to ride north after her aunt had died, when they’d spotted Lannister forces riding towards the Eyre with clear intention. That was, until she realised they were probably coming for her head. 

She had no idea if Littlefinger was still alive, if he’d escaped in the chaos or if he’d been killed, and she had no desire to find out. She hadn’t expected to make it out alive, and had been trying to make it clear that she wasn’t going down without a fight, until Bronn had grasped her firmly by the shoulders and told her _listen, we’re not here to kill you, alright? We’re taking you back to the capital under the Queen’s orders._

That was, somehow, almost worse than dying. If Sansa knew anything, she knew Cersei, and she knew that if she wanted to keep her alive, she must be awaiting a fate worse than death. Somehow. 

That thought had plagued her the whole unusually comfortable ride south, giving her restless days and sleepless nights on the Kingsroad. While Podrick and Bronn had proven to be good company most of the time, they had seemed just as in the dark as she was about Cersei’s intentions, and that made her feel as though she couldn’t trust them. She’d thought she had no one left in this world to trust. 

But when the carriage door opened, and she saw Margaery Tyrell standing over her, relief flooded every inch of her body and she felt safe once again. 

“Sansa!” Margaery beamed, pulling her into a desperate hug that nearly knocked the wind out of Sansa’s lungs. 

“Margaery!”

Neither of them let go. 

“Are you all right?” She whispered it in Sansa’s ear, urgently, as if making sure no one else heard her. 

“I’m not dead,” Sansa said. “Make of that what you will.”

Margaery squeezed her tighter, if such a thing was possible, and she let out a laugh. “You’re not dead.”

She let her go, briefly, taking a proper look at Sansa. “Your hair!”

Sansa rolled her eyes playfully. “You thought I was dead, and the only thing you can think about is my hair?” She smiled reassuringly. “It’ll wash out.”

“You look beautiful either way.” 

Sansa blushed, dipping her head. 

Margaery lowered her voice. “You’re not to be escorted to the dungeons, are you?”

“If I were, I would be there already.”

Margaery took a glance behind her, probably to check if the guards were listening. “I don’t’ know what Cersei wants with you.”

“Me neither. If she doesn’t want me dead or imprisoned, then…”

Margaery smiled, taking Sansa by the hand. Sansa could see the distress in her eyes, but she chose to ignore it. They were two close friends, reunited after weeks of hardship. They could enjoy each other’s company in this moment, no matter what was to happen next. 

Sansa was pulled out of the carriage, her feet hitting the cobblestones of the street and the blinding sunlight hitting her. 

“We must go for a walk by the sea. We’ve so much to discuss, and-” Margaery gave her dress a once-over. “Your dress!”

“I made it myself.”

“You made that? Gods, it’s beautiful. And it suits you wonderfully, especially with your complexion.” Margaery let go of her hand as she looked at Podrick, who had been standing awkwardly by the carriage throughout this conversation. “Can we...can she…”

Podrick looked alarmed, and Sansa almost pitied him. “I haven’t - can-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Bronn interjected. “You’re wanted in the throne room before nightfall, but...oh, go for your nice walk. Just make it quick.”

Sansa’s nerves flooded with fear at the mention of being wanted in the throne room, but Margaery seemed unfazed. “Thank you so much. We will be, I promise.”

She linked her arm in Sansa’s and laughed. “What on earth have you been up to all this time? I heard you were found in the Eyrie. What could you possibly…”

Margaery trailed off, looking up. Sansa’s head snapped up, trying to see what she was looking at, and her eyes met Cersei’s, up on the steps, watching them carefully with an unreadable expression. 

Sansa had no idea how to react, and even less so when Cersei smiled at her, acknowledging her presence. 

She dipped her head awkwardly in recognition, a cautious movement. 

Margaery’s grip on her arm tightened as they watched Cersei turn and walk back to the Keep. 

**Cersei**

Sansa Stark was hardly recognisable to Cersei. She’d clearly taken measures to make sure she wasn’t found - red hair was so easy to spot, and for the past few weeks every redhead in King’s Landing had sent a jolt down her spine and put a bitter taste in her mouth. And her dress didn’t look quite right on her, that harsh black colour on her pale skin made her look half a ghost. 

But it wasn’t her appearance that made her so different. No, there was something in the way she held herself, the way her blue eyes fixated on one spot when previously they had flitted from one place to another, the way she held her ground and kept her head up. Perhaps it was the fact that she stood before Tommen, and not Joffrey, but Cersei could tell that her _little dove_ was not so afraid anymore. She was hardly even a dove - something more intelligent, more perceptive. A hawk, maybe, or a raven. 

For a second, Cersei questioned whether letting her live had been the right decision. If she should have let the wolf-bitch rot on the Kingsroad as she should have done. 

But one glance at Margaery, two chairs away from her, watching the Stark girl with reverence and lust, and she knew she had done the right thing. 

“Your Grace,” she said. It was Tommen she was standing before, but she was looking at Cersei. “Thank you for - for sparing my life.”

Cersei scoffed. “I did not do it out of compassion, little dove.” The room was relatively empty, save from her, Margaery, Tommen and a few members of the Small Council, or else she would have been much more conciliatory. “Unfortunately, you are far too valuable for us to lose.”

Sansa gulped, but she kept staring Cersei down. “So I am still to be a prisoner.”

“Not in the same way your darling husband is.”

Sansa paled. “Tyrion - is he-”

“He will go on trial for Joffrey’s murder tomorrow, and his fate will be decided then.”

“Tyrion didn’t kill Joffrey.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “And why should I believe that?”

“Because Littlefinger did.”

Cersei gripped the arm of her chair. “How convenient that is. A man we can only assume is dead can absolve you and your conniving husband of any guilt.”

“But-”

“Be grateful that I am choosing not to try you for his murder as well.”

Sansa dipped her head. “Of course, Your Grace.”

There was a stoicism in her words that there had never been before, like she was not obeying out of fear but out of recognition that it was the clever thing to do. 

Cersei could almost respect that. 

She felt Margaery’s eyes on her, accusatory and piercing, but she did not turn to meet them. Instead, she looked at her son, sitting on the Iron Throne, far too small for it, his hands resting awkwardly on the edge. 

She smiled to herself. She could protect him, now. In her own, strange way. 

After Tommen had somewhat awkwardly dismissed them, Cersei found herself lingering in the room. Perhaps it was that Margaery and Sansa had left immediately, together, and she wanted to leave them alone to their own devices. Let them talk, and let Margaery become infinitely more distracted. 

She was contemplating the details of her plan when, most unexpectedly, Ellaria Sand approached her. 

“Your Grace.”

“Lady Ellaria,” Cersei said contemptuously. “It’s nice to see you.” 

“What an interesting decision you have made, deciding to let Sansa Stark live. And here I thought she killed your son.”

Cersei gritted her teeth and smiled. “As I said, it is in our interests to keep her alive. And my son did not object to my decision - in fact, he encouraged it.” As if Tommen had any say in the matter. 

“And your father? I noticed his absence. It almost feels strange to see someone other than him sitting on the throne.” 

That was true, actually. “I’m afraid my father does not care much about whether Lady Sansa lives or dies as long as the outcome is useful to him. He simply wants Tyrion tried.”

“And killed.”

“You are most impertinent, Lady Ellaria.”

“Perhaps so.” Cersei didn’t like her one bit, her tone of voice was always so cocky. Just like her paramour. 

Ellaria leaned in conspicuously. “Speaking of impertinence, my darling Oberyn does have the most peculiar things to say about you.”

Cersei froze. “Such as?” 

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I have to say, I didn’t expect it from you of all people, but you can never tell just by looking at a person.” She sucked in a breath, and Cersei felt her eyes burn as she watched her. “Brienne is so beautiful, isn’t she? Of course, she’s-”

“You breathe one word of this to anyone, and I’ll have your tongue ripped from your throat.” 

“Why? It’s not as though your reputation can be any worse than it already is.”

“I am the Queen.”

“And my lover is the Prince of Dorne, and yet he can cavort with men.”

“King’s Landing is different.”

Ellaria tilted her head to one side. “Perhaps not as different as you would think. If you’d like, I could procure you a whore or two. Just to try it out, you know, if you’ve never been with a woman before. Find out what you like and what you-”

Cersei slapped her across the face. The sound echoed through the empty throne room. 

Ellaria clutched her cheek. “I’m trying to do you a favour, and this is how you repay me?”

“By protecting my reputation? Yes, it is.” She stepped away from Ellaria. “And I stand by my previous statement. I will rip your tongue out myself if I have to.”

Ellaria glowered at Cersei. “Have it your way. But my offer still stands.”

Cersei huffed and turned away from the Dornish bitch, grumbling to herself about having Ellaria’s eyes gouged out while Oberyn watched or something to that effect. 

She bit the inside of her cheek. As much as she despised it, Ellaria’s offer did sound incredibly appealing. 

No. No. She wouldn’t. It was one thing to be attracted to women, to lust after them the same way men lusted after her, but to actually...cavort with one? The prospect didn’t even bear thinking about. 

But she could, if she wanted to. No one would dare say anything if she went to the brothel by herself, and Ellaria didn’t have to know. She could certainly afford to, and besides, how many whores had her husband lain with throughout the years?

 _Fuck_ . Fuck Oberyn Martell and Ellaria Sand and especially fuck Brienne of Tarth, for being so insufferably attractive in ways Cersei didn’t even understand, and fuck her for making Cersei think _fuck_ Brienne of Tarth in an entirely different tone of thought. 

As she exited the throne room, she found herself going in the opposite direction, in the direction her husband and Tyrion and even her father had headed so many times. _I am definitely going to regret this._

Two hours later, she found herself taking another unexpected turn: down towards Tyrion’s cell. She hadn’t spoken to him since Joffrey had died, obviously: he’d _killed_ her son, and she had no desire to listen to that insufferable bastard speak. 

But, walking down those dimly lit, damp-smelling stairwells, she realised that today was a very strange day for her. In fact, the past week had felt like a never-ending fever dream. 

Perhaps ending things with Jaime had been a mistake. Maybe it would all be easier if they had carried on the way they always had, and it might have been damaging and miserable and stiflingly toxic, but it hadn’t come with all these complications and unwanted emotions. 

But no. No matter where her impulses might have driven her, she knew they were both happier and better off this way.

She hardly recognised Tyrion when she saw him. His facial hair had grown much more, to the point where it obscured most of his face, and the damp cell smelt like shit. His dejection was palpable: no matter how downtrodden and abused he had been in the past, he had always carried it off with that infuriating swagger and wit of his. But not anymore. That should have made Cersei pity him, but it only made her feel more triumphant. 

His head rose slowly as he recognised there was a figure in the doorway. “Jaime, I told you not to-” He bit his lip as Cersei stepped into the light of the torch. “Oh.”

“Oh.”

“And what the hell are you doing here? No, don’t tell me. You’ve come to gloat, or tell me that you’re going to rip my tongue out, or remind me what an abomination I am.”

“I don’t know why I’m here.”

Tyrion’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not like you. You know, Jaime’s been down to see me quite a few times.”

Cersei stepped closer. “I’m aware.”

“And is it true?”

“Jaime said you didn’t believe him.”

“And I didn’t.”

“Didn’t or don’t?”

Tyrion took a good look at her. He was scrutinising her, that she could tell, but what for she wasn’t sure. She self-consciously hid the fingers on her right hand in the sleeves of her dress, a movement he unfortunately picked up on. Damn it, she should have washed them more carefully.

“Come closer, Cersei.”

Cersei scoffed. “Are you finally going to kill me? The way you killed my-”

“You’re convinced, aren’t you? You’ve buried your head so far into the sand that it’s never coming out.”

Cersei exhaled. “Fine. Fine. Let’s pretend that you didn’t poison him and force me and Jaime to watch.”

“Do you know how long I’ve known about you and Jaime? And do you know how many times over I could have ruined your gods-damned lives by letting your relationship slip?” Cersei was silent. “Exactly. Because I care about him. And I care about you, even though you’re the most despicable woman I’ve ever met.”

“You know he has a new woman now. Brienne of Tarth.”

Tyrion scoffed. “Have you heard the way he talks about her? Like she’s the Lord of Light and he’s a Red Priestess. He’s infatuated.”

“And you still don’t believe us?”

“I believe you. I just don’t believe either of you have the self-restraint to stay away from each other.” He was so close to Cersei. When had she stepped so far towards him? 

He sniffed at her. 

“What are you doing?” 

“What have you been drinking?”

Cersei was grateful for the dim light, because she must have flushed. “What are you talking about?”

“What’s that smell?”

“Wine.” Cersei winced as she saw the recognition in his eyes. It had been a mistake to drink the cup of wine at the brothel, even though she had just had the one. Of course Tyrion knew what it smelled like, because it smelt and tasted like shit. 

“A very...specific brand of wine, if I’m not correct, my dear sister.”

“Shut up.”

“Have you really become so lonely without Jaime that you’ve had to resort to buying men?” He looked her up and down. She tried to resist the urge to dropkick him across the room and leave his decaying body for the rats to eat. 

The offending hand further disappeared into the sleeve of her dress, and he caught it this time.

“Or - now correct me if I’m wrong - not a man.”

Cersei said nothing. 

“Really? You?” He laughed. “Experimenting a little, are we?”

“I’m not-” She had no idea how she was going to finish that sentence. “Yes.”

“And you like it?”

“You’re probably going to be dead soon, so why are you asking?”

“That’s precisely why I’m asking. Because I can.”

“Yes.” 

“Yes?”

“Yes, I liked it.”

“Ha!” He threw his head back. 

“You think I’m disgusting, don’t you?”

“Of course I think you’re disgusting. Because you kill people, and you manipulate people, and that’s not even scratching the surface of the incest thing. But laying with other women? That’s not disgusting, Cersei.”

“Have you ever?”

“Lain with a woman? Have you met me?”

“With a man, I mean.”

“Yes. Quite a few, actually.”

It was Cersei’s turn to laugh. “Well. Look at us.”

“Women are quite incredible, aren’t they? I always wanted someone I could talk about girls with. Jaime was...well, he only ever had eyes for one back then.”

“They are, aren't they?” Perhaps it was the wine, or the hazy bliss of fucking another woman for the first time, but Cersei couldn’t tell why she was being so honest, so open. 

“Which one did you-”

“No. No, I do not need to know whether you and I have fucked the same woman. That crosses a _line.”_

“It was Nadya, wasn’t it?”

“How the hell did you-”

“I know a lot of things, Cersei.” He looked her up and down. “You know, looking back, I should have realised it sooner.”

“I’ve always hated other women.”

“Maybe you didn’t hate them as much as you wanted to fuck them.”

Cersei scoffed. “Maybe so.”

The conversation they were having felt surreal to some degree. The strange recklessness that came from the knowledge that he was going to die soon and that she hated him more than anyone else on this earth made them want to tell each other everything, to overshare as much as they could before it all ended for him. 

“Well, if you ever find yourself in there again, after I’m dead and gone, give them all my best wishes.” He raised his eyebrows. “Then give them yours.”

“You are disgusting.”

“So are you.” He flung his hands in the air hopelessly. “We’re Lannisters. Disgusting is the name of the game.”

“I’m leaving now.” She felt the hatred towards him rise again, slowly, as the effects of the wine began to wear off. 

“See you at the trial.”

Cersei turned around. “No. You won’t.”

“Otherwise engaged, are you?”

“I’m choosing not to attend. Which means I won’t testify against you.” 

Tyrion exhaled. “You never fail to surprise me, Cersei.”

“I never fail to surprise myself.” She sighed and began to walk up the stairs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading again! Please leave a comment with any feedback. Sorry it was a bit longer.


	7. Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion demands a trial by combat, and Jaime and Sansa both deal with the consequences of that in different ways. Brienne seeks to offer comfort where she can, and Cersei finds herself butting heads with Tywin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry the last few chapters have been so long. This one's slightly shorter. Enjoy!

**Cersei**

Cersei sat in her room and waited, restlessly.

She knew there would be consequences for her absence, and she wasn’t even sure if she was willing to face up to them. But she couldn’t attend Tyrion’s trial: she had made her decision, and she was sticking to it. Let her be a woman of her word for once in her life.

She knew her brother’s fate was being decided, downstairs in the throne room. She knew Jaime and Brienne would both be there, anticipating it with bated breath, hoping he came out alive.

Cersei couldn’t bring herself to do _that,_ not after all the things that vicious man had done to her, to her mother and to her son, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to hope for his demise either. Indifference was unfamiliar to her; she had always been so passionate and so decisive. But today was an entirely different story.

After what could have been hours or days or seconds, she heard a great commotion through the walls of the Red Keep, echoing like she was drowning and the whole court was shouting at her from the shore.

She let the current pull her downstairs.

“Brienne!” She was the first person Cersei saw as she ran down the stairwell, or perhaps it was just that everything about her stood out to Cersei. _This is no time to be dealing with your attractions, Cersei._ “What happened?”

The woman was pale, more so than usual, and she was clearly trembling and shaken. “Cersei – you weren’t- you didn’t -”

“What the hell happened?”

Brienne swallowed nervously. “Tyrion demanded a trial by combat.”

The words hit Cersei slowly. Trial…by combat. More anticipation over his fate, longer for her father to deliberate and fume, longer for Cersei to be so, so confused about his situation. She had half a mind to kill him herself and end it.

 _The Mountain._ Her father would surely choose Ser Gregor as his champion. Fuck, Tyrion didn’t stand half a chance.

The hall was filled with people, courtiers, bustling and talking and theorising about what was going to happen next. But there was one face Cersei couldn’t see.

“Do you know where Jaime is?” Brienne asked. “I thought he might have gone to talk to you, but…”

Cersei shook her head, anxiously. “I haven’t seen him.”

Gods, this was going to be devastating for Jaime. There was a certain understanding between the two women as their eyes met for a brief second: find him, protect him, make sure he didn’t do anything stupid.

“He might be-”

Cersei’s suggestion was cut off as a hand grabbed her wrist and wrenched her away from Brienne.

It was strange how her father could make her feel like a child again, no matter how old or powerful she became.

She seethed as she looked up at him.

“Where the hell were you?” Out of the corner of her eye, Cersei saw Brienne start: Tywin would have that effect on even the mightiest of warriors.

Cersei realised that, in all the chaos and confusion, she hadn’t actually told her father that she wasn’t coming to the trial.

“I felt ill.” What a pathetic excuse.

She turned her head around to face Brienne, and gave her a quick nod, dismissing her with all the urgency of the unsaid sentence _find Jaime and help him before he does something stupid._

Besides, she didn’t want to be scolded by her father like an insolent child in front of the woman – in front of Brienne. She couldn’t put a label on her these days, on what she meant to Cersei.

“You felt ill? Do I need to remind you of the gravity of the situation? He killed Joffrey – he killed your son.”

Cersei struggled to maintain her expression, to avoid slipping into seething rage or tears. “I know exactly what he did. But I did not – I will not-”

The grand declaration she sought to make didn’t come. She couldn’t exactly tell Tywin _I didn’t come to the trial because I didn’t want to upset Brienne. Speaking of Brienne, I like women, and I fucked one. Is Tyrion still your family disappointment, Father? Will you put me on trial for being…this way the same way you put him on trial for being a dwarf?_

Fuck, the thought of her father finding out about her activities terrified her more than anything. More than even him finding out about what she and Jaime had been to some degree.

“He will be convicted,” her father almost spat, “and he will be executed.”

Cersei nodded. “Of that I am sure. But I will not be the one to deem him so.”

“I don’t know what to think of you anymore.” If they hadn’t been in such a crowded room, Tywin would have been pacing from wall to wall. “Everything you’ve done – allowing the Stark girl to live, and now this – I don’t know what you think you’re doing.”

“Everything I do, I do for the good of our family.” _A lie._ “I know exactly what I’m doing.” _Another one._

Her father looked over his shoulder, and sighed. The most powerful man alive or not, he had a reputation to uphold, and screaming at his daughter like she was an insolent child would not help to do so. 

“Might I remind you,” he said, the hushed tones a thousand times scarier than when he shouted, “that you owe your life - your very existence - to me. Without me, you and your brothers would have ground the Lannister legacy into the dirt a hundred times over. I will not have you destroy it.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows cockily, trying to disguise her rage and fear. “I do not intend to.”

“It does not matter what you intend to do. What matters is that you stay out of my way, and do as I ask of you, nothing more. And might I also remind you that you are still betrothed to Loras Tyrell.”

 _Fuck._ Cersei had almost forgotten about that. 

Wasn’t he a sword-swallower? They would make an interesting couple, then. Perhaps he would be more understanding.

She took a deep breath, and looked her father in the eyes. “I do not need reminding.”

A wave of confidence rose in her chest.

“But if it’s protecting the family legacy you’re so concerned with, whatever you might threaten me with, I know you don’t mean it. What are you going to do? Kill me?”

“Cersei!”

She had no idea where that had come from. Still, she stood her ground, staring him down as if she didn’t quite genuinely fear for her life.

To her surprise, he didn’t say a word. He simply shook his head and shot her a withering look as he stormed off.

**Margaery**

Margaery knocked urgently on Sansa’s door, almost bruising her knuckles in the process. While Sansa had hardly been locked in her room with the key thrown away, it was hardly surprising that the Lannisters hadn’t invited her to the trial. 

She had no idea if Sansa had loved Tyrion, or if he had loved her (hopefully not, he was more than twice her age, and Sansa had clearly already endured enough of that from Littlefinger) but he had been her husband, and she deserved to know. 

The door opened slowly, and Sansa’s eyes were filled with fear until she saw that it was Margaery at the door. Her hair was wet, clearly having tried to wash out the last of the black dye. “Lady Margaery. I-”

Margaery exhaled. There was no way to ease her into this, to tell her nicely. “Tyrion has demanded a trial by combat.”

Sansa paled. “What?”

Margaery looked sheepishly up and down the corridor, and stepped into Sansa’s room, bolting the door behind them. “His trial was today.”

“But I told Cersei he didn’t do it. Littlefinger-”

“I know, and I believe you. But the Lannisters will never listen to you, and you’re lucky you’re not going down with him.”

“I don’t understand.” Sansa shook her head. “If it’s a trial by combat, doesn’t he have a chance of winning?”

“Tywin Lannister’s champion is going to be the Mountain.”

“Seven hells.” Sansa fidgeted nervously with the chain on her dress. “He’s going to die.”

She was breathing heavily now, her eyes red and puffy but mostly still dry. Margaery clasped her hand, trying to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the feel of Sansa’s skin against hers. 

“I’m sorry, Sansa. I know you - you were married-”

“I didn’t love him,” Sansa said. “Not like that. But he was kind to me. He - tried to protect me, and now he’s going to die.” She sniffled a little. “He was one of my only friends here, and now he’s gone-”

“You still have me.” Margaery knew it was inappropriate to make this situation about herself, but she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t stand to have Sansa going on and not feeling as though she could trust her. Even though she could never love her back. “I know I’m not much, and that you deserve so, so much more, but I will do my best to protect you. When I marry Tommen-”

A flicker of disappointment entered Sansa’s eyes. “You’re marrying Tommen?”

Margaery nodded. “At least he’s not Joffrey.”

_But he isn’t you._

“And at least you’ll be Queen.” Sansa kneaded Margaery’s fingers with her own. Her nails were digging into Margaery’s hands a little, but she didn’t mind. “You’ll be an excellent queen, I know it. Better than I would have been.”

“That’s not true.”

“Of course it is. I’m young and stupid, what do I know? I was foolish enough to love Joffrey, once.”

“Don’t.” Margaery gritted her teeth, almost pained at hearing Sansa talk about herself so negatively. “You are not stupid. You’re strong enough and smart enough to have survived this long - with Littlefinger! Littlefinger, no less. And he’s dead, and you’re still alive.”

Sansa looked up at Margaery. “I don’t know how to play the game. Not like you do.”

“Of course you do.”

“Not well enough to protect myself.”

Margaery pulled Sansa into a hug. “If that’s even slightly true, then trust me. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“You can’t promise that.”

Margaery nestled her head into the space between Sansa’s head and shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin and the cold wetness of her hair combined on her cheek. “I will try to.”She felt Sansa squeeze her tighter, and the two of them stood there, together, in the dim light of Sansa’s room. 

Then, Sansa pressed a light kiss to her shoulder, lips burning onto the bare skin there, and Margaery’s whole body tensed up. 

It was merely an act of friendship, and Margaery knew it. Not of love, or lust, or all the things Sansa would never be able to feel for her. Just a comforting action. 

When she pulled away, Margaery smiled like nothing at all had happened. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

Sansa nodded, eyes still teary, but now brighter and filled with hope. “I know.”

**Brienne**

Brienne wasn’t sure what had pulled her towards the sea. Perhaps it was because whenever she sparred with Jaime, they had come down here, or perhaps it was a natural instinct. 

But sure enough, she found him, gripping the edge of the balcony, staring into the murky waters of Blackwater Bay, his own sea of tears pooling in his eyes.

“Jaime!” She grabbed his arm, and his body tensed up. “Are you all right?”

“Do I look like I’m fucking all right?” he roared, and for the first time since travelling with him on the Kingsroad, before he lost his hand to protect her, she felt scared of him. She took a step back.

He flung his arm towards the Keep. “My brother’s just been sentenced to death-”

“Trial by combat-”

“Yes, with Gregor Clegane against whoever he picks. My father won’t take any chances.” He gripped the edge of the railing harder with his good hand. “He - he-”

Brienne stepped towards him, still hesitant, and pulled him into a fierce hug. She felt him try to resist it for a few moments, but she held him still, and felt him give into the much needed contact with a sigh.

“He’s going to die,” Jaime mumbled into her hair. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. She didn’t know what else she could say. 

Jaime broke away from the hug. “Why did you come here?”

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I mean-” She looked up, and sighed. “I knew you weren’t going to be okay. But I wanted to make sure you didn’t do anything stupid.”

“Am I liable to doing stupid things?”

“Cersei seemed to think so.”

Jaime clearly didn’t appreciate Brienne’s mention of his sister. “I don’t know what Cersei’s doing.”

“Neither do I.” Being almost friends with Cersei was somehow more confusing than being enemies with her. Every time she thought she could understand her, her intentions and her wants, she was thrown for another loop. Even Jaime, who should have known her better than anyone, seemed to feel like that too. “But she cares about you. In her own way. And I care about you, and I couldn’t stand it if you went off and, I don’t know, did something I could have stopped you from doing, I couldn’t live with myself-”

“I love you.”

The words took a moment to register with Brienne. 

“You what?”

Jaime looked every bit as petrified as she was. “I love you. So much.”

Brienne nodded, slowly. 

“I mean it.” He kept talking, not leaving her any room to speak. Not that she needed it - she was utterly speechless. Speechless at how someone she loved so much could love her back, which she had never been able to imagine until recently, and speechless at how Jaime Lannister, the _Kingslayer,_ the man who had hated her and tried to kill her until that night when he almost died for her, could be the one to love her like that. “You are the most wonderful person I’ve ever met. You are so kind, and brave, and beautiful - should I stop?”

Brienne didn’t know how to respond to that. So she kissed him instead. 

It didn’t have the same urgency and lust as their first kiss in the sparring pit that week ago - had it really been a week since then? It had felt like an eternity and a second at the same time. It was gentler, and Brienne tried to press as much comfort into it as she could. 

She pulled away. “I love you too.”

Jaime’s eyes brightened. “You mean it?”

Brienne nodded. “I mean it. And we’re going to get through this. Together.”

“Together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Feedback in the comments would be appreciated (and thank you so much for all your comments already)


	8. The Art of Distraction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne decides it would be a good idea to have Cersei and Jaime fighting together, to take their minds off Tyrion's trial. They spar, talk through their issues, and the three of them enjoy a fleeting moment of happiness in these tumultuous times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was going to be a short scene in the next chapter, but I loved it so much that I extended it. Also, side note, but I love writing platonic Cersei and Jaime. Their dynamic is so much more fun and interesting to write when they’re not going at it all the time, and don’t have the weird toxic aspect of their relationship to worry about. And it gives Jaime room to pine and fawn over our favourite lady knight, which is so fun to write as well. I just...gah, I love these three.

**Cersei**

“You’ve been pacing all morning, haven’t you?”

Cersei jumped. She was pulled out of her reverie to see Jaime standing at her door, which she must have left open.

“Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Am I wrong?”

He wasn’t. In fact, Cersei wasn’t sure how long she’d been pacing for, or when she’d started.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” she said.

“I thought you hated Tyrion.”

“I do.” She wrung her hands. “But I don’t – I don’t think I want him dead. I used to, gods, I used to dream about killing him, but…not like this.” That was it. That was what had been bothering her so much about this situation. “Not like this.”

Jaime nodded thoughtfully, still lingering in the doorway. “I know.”

“What are you doing here, anyway? Aside from monitoring my pacing.”

Jaime laughed a little, but Cersei could see the sadness behind his eyes. “I thought you might be tense. Brienne seemed to think so too, so-”

“Brienne?” She stepped closer to him, hating the way her ears pricked up at the mention of her name. “When?”

Jaime seemed to realise what she was getting at, and he dipped his head. “Last, um…last night.”

“You spent the night together?” She grinned playfully. “Again?” It was hardly surprising news to her, after all they were together, but she still felt that little spark of joy and self-satisfaction at knowing that without her, this probably never would have happened. Even if she couldn’t quite get rid of the tinge of jealousy that came with it.

“I might have slightly told her that I loved her.”

Cersei’s mouth fell open. “Seriously?”

“Yes, seriously.”

She looked around. “And how did she respond?”

“She said she loved me too. But that – none of that is the point!” He looked at Cersei somewhat accusatorily. “That is not what I came here to tell you.”

“But you told me anyway. Because you love her.”

“Shut up!”

She laughed teasingly.

“The point is – shush! The point is, she thought you might be a little tense, and she remembered she’d suggested that you and I fight together. You know, to practise.”

“Right now? Seriously?”

“She’s waiting in the gardens.”

“Not in the sparring pit?”

“That’s, um, being prepared. For the trial.”

A sinking feeling entered Cersei’s stomach. “Right. Of course.”

She moved towards the door.

“Aren’t you going to get changed?”

Cersei looked down at her dress. “Why does everyone seem to think I can’t fight in a dress?”

“It doesn’t strike me as very comfortable.”

“Neither does fighting with my left hand, but you seem comfortable enough doing that.”

Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but quickly closed it. “Fair enough.”

“That’s what I thought. Now, let’s go.”

Brienne was polishing one of her swords as she saw Cersei and Jaime approaching her. “There you are. I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Cersei tilted her head to one side. “Then you must not know me very well.”

She’d found a nice clear space in the gardens, open and grassy, without any flowers at risk of being trampled, and far away enough from the main path to avoid being a hazard to anyone passing through.

There were three swords on the ground next to Brienne, glinting in the sun.

“I am not fighting with the one you gave me last time,” Cersei said. “The balance was off.”

Jaime scoffed. “You really can’t afford to be fussy with swords.”

“You’re one to talk,” Brienne said, and Cersei let out a laugh.

Jaime flushed a little next to her. “That was one time.”

“Sorry, am I interrupting something?” Cersei said teasingly, and Brienne flushed as well. Jaime hit her lightly on the arm.

“We haven’t started yet, brother dearest. Calm down. Are you really that eager to prove you’re better than me?”

“Come on, Cersei, this was supposed to make you feel better.”

“It will make me feel better when I best you.”

“You are not going to be besting me any time soon. I have years of experience-”

“And I have two hands.”

“I’m sorry, am _I_ interrupting something?” Brienne said, and they both fell silent. Cersei immediately saw her regretting her choice of words. “Sorry, that was – that was inappropriate. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Cersei said. “There’s no risk of backsliding, if that’s what you mean. I couldn’t get him off you if I tried.”

“Cersei!” Jaime said, at the same time Brienne said, “Seven hells, Cersei.”

She laughed. “I’m only trying to be honest. And for the record, I wouldn’t want to try. Now.” She outstretched her right hand. “Give me your sword.”

“Excellent,” Jaime said smugly. “All the better for me to prove you wrong.”

“Actually,” Brienne said, holding a sword in each hand, “I’d say you two are about evenly matched. Cersei, you have dexterity on your side, but Jaime has more experience. I really don’t know who would win.”

“Who do you think will win this afternoon?” Jaime asked.

Brienne handed them each a sword – thankfully, she had not given Cersei the offending unbalanced weapon from a few days ago. “I think Oberyn has a better chance than you might give him credit for. But the Mountain…is the Mountain.” She shook her head. “Let’s not think about that right now. Off you go.”

She stepped away from the two of them. Jaime raised his sword awkwardly, and Brienne immediately stepped back towards him.

“Hold on,” she said. “This is a lot easier now that I can see you. Lean in the other way…”

She trailed off as she pushed him into position, moving his arms and shoulders and urging his left leg forwards to find his balance. As she did so, Jaime made sustained eye contact with Cersei, saying nothing but with all the implications of _what the hell am I supposed to do_ and _gods, she’s so attractive I might keel over and die right here._

Cersei raised her eyebrows suggestively as Brienne’s hand grazed Jaime’s upper thigh and his entire body stiffened.

 _Shut up,_ he mouthed.

She threw her swordless hand up in frustration. _I didn’t say anything!_

“That’s better,” Brienne said, either unaware of the effect she was having on Jaime or not wanting to acknowledge it in front of Cersei. Which she couldn’t be blamed for.

She looked at Cersei, who quickly got back into her posture. “Better,” Brienne said, moving towards her, “but not quite right.”

 _Oh, fuck,_ Cersei thought, as Brienne moved towards her. She prayed Jaime wasn’t as perceptive as she was.

“Will I have to do anything different?” Cersei asked, trying not to gasp as Brienne placed a hand on her shoulder. “Since he’s using his left hand.”

“You wouldn’t if you were fighting him on the battlefield. Widen your stance.”

Fortunately, Brienne did not touch Cersei’s leg the same way she’d touched Jaime’s. Otherwise Cersei might have suddenly become very obvious, and felt very grateful that she was not a man.

“Good.” She stepped away from the two of them, and Cersei exhaled. “Now start. And try and remember those postures.”

Jaime swung, and it began. It was almost like a dance, only one you couldn’t learn the steps to beforehand. 

Brienne had been right, it was almost a balanced fight. Jaime clearly knew the steps better than Cersei, who was just going off what she had seen every man do, but Cersei’s movements were less clunky and more fluid. They went like that for a good few minutes, their swords finding a comfortable rhythm against each other.

If Cersei hadn’t been attracted to Brienne in the slightest, she would have had the clear advantage. But unfortunately, both of them were distracted by the blue-eyed warrior goddess watching them fight a few metres away. 

“Good, good,” Brienne said, after watching them for a minute or so. “Cersei, try to move around a little bit more.”

Cersei complied, stepping back. 

“Don’t go too far back,” Jaime said. “You might fall into the path.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Cersei said, but she kept it in mind, ducking as she shuffled her feet forwards. 

She felt strangely invigorated by the fighting, and understood even more why Brienne had chosen to become a warrior rather than a lady. It was rewarding, and exciting, more so than sitting at a table and embroidering and waiting for things to be over and being married off to whoever it was convenient for her father to form an alliance with. 

If only her father hadn’t been Tywin Lannister. 

“Your Grace! Lady Brienne! Ser Jaime!”

Cersei almost slipped on the wet grass when she heard that voice. She steadied herself, finding her feet and willing herself to maintain some pretence of calmness. 

“Are you all right?” Jaime asked, letting his sword hand hang at his side.

Cersei seethed silently and turned around. She gripped the sword in her hand, trying to resist the temptation to slice Margaery’s head off with it. Now _that_ would be rewarding and invigorating.

“Good morning, Lady Margaery,” Brienne said cheerfully. 

Cersei’s anger soothed a little when she saw that Margaery was walking hand in hand with Sansa Stark. So they were spending time together, which meant her plan was working, slowly but surely. And if there was one thing Cersei could pick up on, it was when two people loved each other but couldn’t admit it, either to each other or to the rest of the world.

Regrettably, she was becoming quite the expert at that. 

“Yes, good morning. Lovely day, isn’t it?” Cersei simpered. 

“What are you doing out here?” Brienne asked. 

“Just taking a walk. The weather’s been so lovely recently.” Margaery’s voice grated on Cersei’s ears like nothing else. “And Sansa’s been stuck up north for so long, it would be a shame not to let her enjoy it.” She gave Cersei a quick once-over. It was like she couldn’t decide what to be more surprised about, the fact that she was with Jaime or the fact that she was holding a sword. 

“Well, it’s nice to see that you’re enjoying each other’s company,” Cersei said, and she saw Brienne tense up a little out of the corner of her eye. 

Sansa gave a little half-smile and gripped Margaery’s arm affectionately. 

“Are you learning to fight, Your Grace?” Sansa asked. Her tone lacked the innocence it would have carried a few months ago, and was more confrontational. 

“Brienne thought I would like it,” Cersei said. 

Margaery nodded, seemingly appreciative. “Well, I’ll see you later, at your brother’s trial.”

“You’re coming to that?”

“It would feel wrong not to.”

“I’d forgotten about that,” Jaime said thoughtfully, the first he’d spoken since being interrupted. 

“Me too,” Cersei said abruptly. “And if you wouldn’t mind, we’d like to get back to what we were doing.” 

Sansa raised her eyebrows at the harshness in Cersei’s tone. “Not a problem,” she said, mimicking Margaery’s sickly sweet tone but with more bitterness laced throughout. “We’ll let you and Jaime get back to it.”

Cersei gripped the handle of her sword tighter, tension flooding through her body. 

Margaery smiled as they walked away. Cersei watched, trembling, until they were out of earshot. 

“Fucking wolf-bitch,” she muttered under her breath. 

“Hey!” Jaime said, marching towards her. “No. Don’t-”

“Did you hear what she said?” Cersei all but spat. 

Brienne looked at her, full of accusation, which made Cersei feel a little guilty. “What did she do wrong now?”

Cersei flung her hand out to the side, causing both Jaime and Brienne to jump. “She said _we’ll let you and Jaime get back to it_!”

“What’s wrong with that?” Brienne said, at the same time as Jaime said “Oh.”

“Yes, _oh,”_ Cersei said. 

“I’m sure Sansa didn’t mean it like that.”

“Since when have you defended Sansa Stark?” 

“Look, Cersei,” Brienne said, her voice strangely calming. “I know how it sounded, but trust me. Even if she did mean it like that, which I am sure she didn’t, there’s no point getting angry at her. And maybe you’re reading into it too much.”

Jaime tilted his head to one side. “You do have a tendency to do that.”

“Why do I feel like you’re both attacking me?”

Brienne took a deep breath, and Cersei saw her meet eyes with Jaime. “We’re not. We’re just...I’m just…”

“Cersei, you’re a very paranoid person.” Cersei glared at Jaime. “And that’s not a bad thing. Well.”

“It sort of is,” Brienne said. 

“Not the point. Just...let it go. You don’t have to let what she says get to you.”

“Even if she didn’t mean it like that,” Brienne said adamantly. Jaime raised his eyebrows at her. 

Cersei bit her lip. “I don’t appreciate being lectured.”

“But you haven’t stormed off yet.”

“Do I usually do that?”

“Yes,” both of them said at the same time, and Cersei had to restrain herself from letting out a laugh. 

She stood there for a few seconds, gripping the sword in her hand still. “I will try not to think about it.”

Why was she giving in so easily? Jaime was right, she would have usually stormed off by now, or done something stupid and impulsive. 

Then she met Brienne’s eyes, those stupidly piercing sapphire eyes, and she knew exactly why. She inwardly cursed herself for being so damn susceptible to her. 

“Good,” Brienne beamed. 

“And besides,” Jaime said. “Whatever she was trying or not trying to hint at, it doesn’t matter anymore. She has no proof, and now she never will.”

Cersei nodded appreciatively. “Though swordfighting out in the open together doesn’t exactly help our case.”

“I wouldn’t think anything of it,” Brienne said. 

“Of course you wouldn’t,” Cersei said teasingly. “You’d be far too distracted.” She shot a look at Jaime. 

Brienne shot her a look right back. 

“Oh, tell me I’m wrong. Especially after last night.”

“You told her about that?” Brienne said, taking a few steps towards Jaime. His eyes widened and he backed away. 

“In his defence, I practically forced him to tell me,” Cersei said, as if that made it better. 

Brienne threw her hands up, as if giving up. “I don’t know why I bother anymore.”

“Because you love him.”

“You told her about that too?”

“Well, that’s not what I was referring to, but…”

“Seven _hells_.”

Jaime took a deep breath. “Please forgive my sister, Brienne. She doesn’t know how to act appropriately.”

“Neither do you!” Cersei quipped. 

Brienne laughed to herself. 

“What’s so funny?” Cersei said, hoping her tone didn’t sound too harsh. 

“Nothing. I just…” She sighed. “It’s not as if I don’t know either of you, but you’re so different from what I expected. Both of you. Talking with you both, it’s...it’s nice.” She smiled appreciatively. 

Cersei didn’t know how to respond to that. No one had ever said that to her before, that she’d subverted their expectations of her. 

Jaime’s eyes widened. “That’s so...you're so kind, Brienne.”

Brienne blushed. Cersei hadn’t noticed the two of them inching together, but they were so close now, and Jaime lifted himself up on his tiptoes a little bit to plant a kiss on her mouth. She wrapped her arms around his back, and it quickly became clear that this wasn’t going to be just a fleeting kiss. 

Cersei tried to ignore the burning feeling in her stomach, and the thoughts coming into her mind unbidden about how much she wanted to run her hands through Brienne’s hair and hold her close the same way Jaime was. 

She coughed. “Excuse me?” she said, waving her hand. “I’m - I’m right here.”

Jaime broke away from the kiss with a start. 

“Sorry,” he said furtively.

Cersei rolled her eyes. “You two are disgusting. And you blame me for having no boundaries.”

That made Brienne smile. 

Brienne had been right, Cersei realised now. Few people, except perhaps her children, would expect to see her like this, talking and laughing with her brother and his lover and feeling strangely at home with them. She didn’t even think most people knew she could laugh, but that was only because she was rarely inclined to. And she was sure Jaime felt the same, what with people whispering _Kingslayer_ as he passed for almost twenty years. 

“I’m joking,” Cersei said reassuringly. “But on a serious note, can you two keep your hands off each other for one minute? I have a point to prove to Jaime here.”

_To be fair, if I was with Brienne, I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands off her either._

Still, they were disgustingly adorable. That much was true. 

Jaime scoffed. “You still think you can win?” He gripped the hilt of his sword. 

Cersei tucked her hair behind her shoulder. “I know I can.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Cersei glanced at Brienne. “Thoughts?”

Brienne shrugged. “Get on with it.”

Jaime grinned. “Yes, sweet sister. Get on with it.”

Cersei made a face. “Please _never_ call me that again. That really is disgusting.”

“That’s...you’re right.”

Cersei widened her stance and raised her sword. “I’m always right.”

They began. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1K HITS! Honestly, I didn't think this fic would get 10 hits, so thanks for all the love and for keeping it going. Feedback as always is appreciated!


	9. Empty Victory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Tyrion’s fate is sealed, Cersei finds herself in a difficult position, and makes a confession to the people most important to her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! This chapter is sort of a “season finale” for this story, as it takes us to the end of events in Season 4, so it is a bit longer. However, it is far from the last chapter, and I have a lot more planned for this fic. Can you tell I’m having way too much fun writing this story? I hope you have as much fun reading it. <3

**Cersei**

It would seem that Brienne’s confidence in Oberyn had been misplaced after all. 

Cersei’s world tilted when he saw his head crack open, her vision blurring and the screams and cries and gasps of the spectators fading out into an incessant buzz. Most people averted their eyes at the gory spectacle, but Cersei found that she couldn’t look away, even though she wanted to.

It meant Tyrion was going to die. _That’s a shame,_ she thought, matter-of-factly, without any real emotion, even though she should have been happy about it. 

She knew Jaime was upset. She knew her father would be ecstatic. But both of those people were in her peripheral vision, and she couldn’t move her eyes from the bloody spot in front of her, and from the screaming, shaking Ellaria who happened to be in her line of vision. 

_Cersei? Cersei?_

She blinked repeatedly as her father’s slowed, muted voice filled her ears. Time caught up with her mind, and she looked to her right.

“Are you quite all right?” The words didn’t sound caring or reassuring in the slightest, and there was a harshness in his tone that implied that he was telling her to pull herself together.

She nodded, trying not to look too shaken.

“Congratulations,” she said coldly. “Your champion won.”

“Observant as always,” Tywin said. Gods, he looked smug. “You don’t seem too pleased.”

She fixed her gaze on the centre of the pit, where the Mountain stood victorious. “It’s a pity,” she said. “Oberyn was…interesting company.”

What was she talking about? Her brother had just been condemned to death, and this was all she could think about?

Let her feel rage and anger. Let her feel triumph and sadistic glory. Anything but this inescapable nothingness that plagued her whenever she thought about Tyrion’s fate.

Oberyn was the person who helped her realise who she was, she recalled. All that time ago, walking in the gardens. He was insufferable, smug, and annoying, but she had that small matter to thank him for. And now his entrails were splattered across the sparring pit.

Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell were sitting next to each other, in the crowd, Sansa’s face buried in Margaery’s shoulder and their hands tightly clasped together.

There it was, that smug victorious feeling Cersei had been trying to make herself feel for the past few minutes. But it was only a flicker, and it didn’t sweep through her consciousness like it usually did.

What was wrong with her?

-

“We have been over this,” Tywin said. “The matter is _closed.”_

“I’m opening it again,” Cersei seethed. Now that her father was done with worrying about Tyrion’s fate, he was back to planning her marriage to Loras Tyrell. A marriage that would take her away from her son, away from her home, from everything she had ever worked for.

“You are betrothed to Loras Tyrell. You will marry Loras Tyrell, as soon as Tommen marries Margaery.”

Cersei wrung her hands, her nails digging into her own skin. She would not allow that to happen to her. She would not be sold like livestock again. “I will not.”

“You have, on several occasions, made claims about your commitment to this family’s future. If you-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Her father raised his eyebrows. “You don’t want to hear it? You’re too self-obsessed to do anything about-”

“I said, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t interrupt me.”

“You want commitment to the future of this family? Then let me stay here.” She sounded like a child again, when she had begged her father to take her to King’s Landing with Jaime. “I need to protect my son. He is open to manipulation, especially from Margaery Tyrell, and I-”

“You what? You want to stay here so you can manipulate him instead?”

“She will have her claws in him, and so will you. I love my son – my last son, my only son, more than anything in this world. I will burn our house to the ground before I let you two tear him apart!” She wasn’t sure when her voice had become so loud, or when her heart had started drumming so quickly.

Her father simply stared at her, at this pathetic excuse for a Queen making idle threats and stomping her feet like a beleaguered child. She had never felt so small as she did when he was looking down at her.

“And how will you do that?” he asked, infuriatingly calm.

Cersei seethed. _Oh, if only you knew. If only I could tell you everything I’ve ever done. If only I could make you feel the shame and the pain I have felt, make you rip the Lannister banners off the wall and throw them in the fire with the fury you would feel towards your own daughter. Your own flesh and blood._

 _Well,_ she thought, a dangerous, reckless idea forming in her mind. _Why can’t I tell him?_

It was impulsive, and it was stupid, but the second she thought it, she knew she had to do it. Had to tell him everything, and watch him fall apart.

Perhaps he would keel over and die, right there on the spot. That would be a sight to see. _That_ would bring her the victory she craved.

“I’ll tell everyone the truth,” she said, trying to match his calmness in her tone.

“What truth would this be?”

She swallowed hard, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. “You don’t know, do you? You never believed it. How is that possible?”

Tywin Lannister was a far cry from stupid, but he could be so oblivious when he wanted to be.

“What am I saying? Of course it’s possible.” She felt the rage inside her calm and walked towards him, her mind clearer now. “How can someone so consumed by the idea of his family have any conception of what his actual family was doing?”

She saw a flicker of fear enter his green eyes. She was determined to fan that flame until it consumed him from the inside out.

“We were right in front of you and you didn’t even see us. One look in the last twenty years and you would have known.”

“Known what?”

“Everything they say is true. About Jaime and me.”

“No.”

“Your legacy is a lie.” She could have told him the truth, the real truth, that their relationship was in the past now, but she couldn’t bring herself to. She wanted to watch him fall apart, and wouldn’t give him the privilege of any information that might relieve or reassure him.

“I don’t believe you.” He looked down at her, and she grinned up at him, head spinning, teeth clenched so tightly she feared they might crack. 

“Yes you do.” She paused for a second, watching him crumble in front of her. “And that’s not all.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. No, she didn’t want to be telling her father this. She didn’t want to give him the privilege of knowing that most intimate part of herself, that even she was scared of. But she couldn’t stop herself, could never when she was like this.

“Go on, then,” he said, his voice cracking. “What else is there?”

She laughed darkly. “You think the false king Renly Baratheon’s proclivities were disgusting? That he enjoyed the company of other men?”

She remembered how he’d spoken of him, once before, with disgust and contempt. The same expression he had worn then was beginning to form on his face.

“If you mean what I think you mean-”

“Oh, yes, Father. You don’t know anything at all, do you? Nothing but the world you want to see. I love women, Father. I always have, and you have been blind to that as well.”

“You have lain with them?”

“Yes.” _Only once,_ she thought, but he didn’t need to know that. “Does that disgust you? A fine match you have made, with Loras Tyrell and I. Two perverted-”

He slapped her across the face. The impact almost sent Cersei to the floor – he still had his rings on, and one pierced the skin below her eye. 

Instead of crying, she laughed. Laughed through the pain, because it was all worth it, to watch her father crumble like that.

She looked up at him, eyes of wildfire and green ice. _I shall wear this as a badge of honour,_ she had once told Robert when he’d hit her. She would try to do the same now.

“Believe what you like,” she spat. “Continue to pull the wool over your own eyes, if you will. But you can never unlearn what I have told you today.”

If only she had her sword with her now. She would have slashed him to ribbons.

Instead, she turned and walked away, desperately wanting to nurse her wound but needing to hold her head high until she was out of the door. She had no idea where she was walking to, thought she was just restlessly pacing the corridors of the Keep, trying not to cry or shout or break something.

That was, until she rounded a corner and saw that she was right outside Brienne’s quarters. There was a heavy sobbing sound coming from inside, along with Brienne’s shushing.

Cersei should have walked away, left them to it. But instead she lingered outside their door, desperate to enter but too shaken to push the door open.

She stood like that for a few silent minutes before she heard Brienne say: “There’s someone outside.”

She marched away from the bed, and Cersei froze, willing herself to walk away and leave it, but rooted to the spot.

“Whatever you want, leave us – Cersei.” Brienne’s harsh expression faded as she saw who it was outside her door. Her eyes immediately flickered to the open wound on her cheek. “You’re hurt.”

Cersei didn’t know how to respond. She gripped the door frame with one hand, the other still nursing her wound.

“Father,” she said, her voice still full of rage and fury. “Father did this to me.”

Brienne pulled her into the room and shut the door behind her. Then, she pulled Cersei into a hug, nestling her into her chest and putting her head on top of hers.

Cersei tensed up against her touch, still coming down from the rage she had been in earlier and not at all receptive to any form of comfort. She struggled against Brienne’s grip, but she was held fast, and eventually she began to calm down, wrapping her own arms around Brienne. Her fingernails dug into Brienne’s back, fiddling restlessly with the blue fabric there, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Jaime got off the bed as well, regarding Cersei cautiously. His cheeks were still damp and wet from his tears, but he quickly wiped them away. “What happened?”

“Father happened,” Cersei sneered. Jaime stepped towards her.

“He did this to you?” Cersei nodded. “Why?”

“Come and sit down,” Brienne said. She led her slowly to the bed, as if coaxing an animal towards the door. Cersei gripped the bedsheets, needing something to hold onto.

It occurred to her that Jaime would probably be angry at her for telling Tywin about their relationship. She hadn’t even considered that when telling him, but she had hardly considered anything.

“I told him I would not marry Loras Tyrell.”

“Are you even still betrothed to him?”

“Apparently so. But that’s not why he hit me.”

She swallowed. Strangely, she didn’t feel the urge to cry, or any sort of fear. She was still fuming from what her father had said and done, although Brienne was clearly doing her best to calm that down.

“I…told him.” She looked up at Jaime. “That all the rumours about us were true.”

Jaime blinked. “No, you didn’t.”

“He said – I – I just couldn’t let him get away with this. Shipping me off to Highgarden, selling our boy off to the highest bidder. I couldn’t let him – I had to let him know the truth. If he thinks I’m going to tell everyone about us, he won’t marry me off.”

Jaime looked away from her. “How could you be so stupid?”

“It’s not as though he can do anything about it,” Cersei said. “One word out of line, and his entire legacy is destroyed. If he so much as tries to arrange that wedding – but he wouldn’t.”

“Well, we’ve already destroyed his legacy, haven’t we?” Jaime threw up his hands in frustration. “Did you at least tell him that we’d stopped?”

“He doesn’t deserve the dignity of knowing that.” Cersei said. She noticed that Brienne’s hands had come away from her shoulders without her realising, understandably just as shocked as Jaime. “And it will make anything I say worse for him.”

Brienne looked at her. “You really don’t want to marry Loras Tyrell, do you?”

“I have already been sold to one man before. I will not have it happen to me again, Brienne, no matter how honourable or kind you might say he is. I will not be parted from my family, and I will do whatever it takes to stay here and protect my son. You can understand that, can’t you?”

Jaime was silent.

“You’re angry at me, aren’t you?”

“Well, you can hardly expect me not to be.” He shook his head. “There must have been another way to stop him.”

“You know what Father’s like.” Finally, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

Brienne flicked something from Cersei's cheek. At first she thought it was a tear, and tensed at the realisation that she might have been crying, but Brienne’s finger came away red and sticky, and she said, “You’re bleeding again.”

Jaime immediately went to a chest of drawers at the side of the room. “There should be some salve in here somewhere.”

So, he was angry at her, but still willing to help her. And Brienne…Brienne didn’t seem too understanding either, but she was so comforting Cersei was willing to overlook that. She wondered how someone so fierce and aggressive could also be so soft and gentle.

“I can’t believe he hit you,” Brienne said.

“Clearly, Jaime hasn’t told you enough about what our father’s like.”

“I wanted to spare you the depressing details,” he said, rummaging in one of the drawers.

“I knew he was awful, but this…” She looked at Cersei’s wound.

“I would have killed him right there if I could,” Cersei said, and Brienne’s eyes widened. “Perhaps I should start carrying a sword everywhere like you do.”

“Please don’t,” Brienne said.

Jaime picked up a pot from the drawers and walked back over to the bed. “That really is the last thing we need. On that note, please don’t try and kill him.”

Cersei scoffed. “I do understand the consequences of my actions.”

“Do you?”

“Shush.” He unscrewed the lid, with surprising ease for a one-handed man.

The salve was so soothing on her skin it almost hurt, and she gasped as he touched the open wound.

Brienne clasped her hand as she winced, which did nothing to ease her tension. “It should heal in a few days, if you keep applying the salve,” she said knowledgeably. “It won’t scar.”

“You must have a lot of experience of being wounded. Although not as much as your adversaries, I dare say.”

Brienne scoffed and looked down at their hands. “Well. Maybe not.”

“Don’t be so modest,” Jaime said. Brienne beamed.

“Has he done this before?” Brienne asked.

“Not to me. I suppose he was so disgusted by what I told him that it was the final straw for him.” Cersei trembled a little at the memory, at the vulnerable part of herself she had exposed to her father, at the confession she had made.

“Well, maybe if he’d paid a little more attention to us, he would have figured it out sooner. We were hardly very subtle-”

“That’s not why he hit me,” Cersei said, her words cutting off the end of Jaime’s sentence.

Jaime paused. “What?”

Cersei knew she shouldn’t have been saying this. Every rational, conscious part of her brain was screaming at her not to. She was having trouble opening her mouth to get the rest of the words out. But, dizzy, aflame with anger and reeling from what her father had said and done to her, she had to. Something was compelling her, making her want to be vulnerable.

She let go of Brienne’s hand, pulling her own away sharply as if it had been burnt.

“He didn’t hit me when I told him that the rumours about us had been true,” she said, her voice quaking but still full of rage. She’d gone too far now. And there was no going back. She was going to have to tell them both the truth. “I told him the truth about _me_ ,” she said slowly. “About who I am. That’s what disgusted him the most, not our relationship.”

“What did you tell him?” Jaime asked. He tried to put a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she flicked it away. She didn’t want either of them touching her.

“I told him…” How was she supposed to phrase it? “You remember that Oberyn Martell said that he was attracted to both men and women? Well…so am I.”

She immediately sprung up from the bed, not wanting to look at Brienne or Jaime, and fully intending to storm out without another word, but a hand caught hers.

“What – Cersei, where are you going?” Brienne asked, and her touch seared right into Cersei’s skin.

“I’ve said my bit, and I don’t want to look at either of you,” she said, still not meeting their eyes.

“Sit back down!” Brienne said. “Don’t – you can’t say something like that and then leave.”

Cersei looked at the two of them for a second, still standing up.

“Well?” she said, expectantly. “What am I supposed to do? Stay here and watch you both be disgusted at me? Even more than you already are?”

Brienne looked at her, and looked back at the empty spot on the bed between her and Jaime.

Cersei huffed and sat back down. The second she did, Jaime pulled her into a rib-crushing hug that took the breath out of her lungs. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek, mingling with the blood in her wound and making it sting.

Some invisible contact was made over Cersei’s shoulder, and she felt Brienne join the hug as well, the two of their bodies enveloping her.

“You can cry if you want to,” Brienne said. “You don’t have to hold it back.”

Cersei hadn’t even realised she’d been holding back tears, but the second Brienne said that, she started sobbing into both of their shoulders, dampening both of their shirts and making an absolute fool of herself in front of the two people she cared about most in the world, aside from her children.

“It’s okay,” Brienne said. “It’s okay.”

“Why did you think we would be disgusted?” Jaime said. “I mean, if anything, _I_ have absolutely no right to be disgusted by you.”

Cersei laughed through her tears. “I suppose not. I didn’t want to tell you.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said. “How long have you been holding onto this?”

“Not long,” she said. “I didn’t realise until I spoke to Oberyn Martell a few weeks ago. And I told Tyrion.”

“You went to see Tyrion?” Jaime pulled her out of the hug and met her eyes.

“Yes.” She frowned. Jaime looked for a moment like he had something to tell her, like a question was rising in him.

But he shook his head, clearly thinking whatever it was would be better left unsaid. “I didn’t expect that.”

“Neither did I.”

“Why did you think either of us would be disgusted?” Brienne said. “Lots of women like other women. It might be frowned upon, but what isn’t?”

“I don’t know,” Cersei said. “I’m still adjusting to it, myself.”

The waterworks had stopped, for now, anyways, and her rage had cooled significantly.

“This might be inappropriate to ask,” Jaime said, “but are there any women in particular who you...you know…?”

Cersei resisted the urge to look up at Brienne, to give everything away with one glance. Instead, she flicked her eyes towards Jaime. “Promise you won’t laugh.”

“Promise.”

“You remember Melara Hetherspoon? From Casterly Rock?”

“No. No!” He laughed.

“Who?” Brienne asked.

“My childhood friend,” Cersei explained.

“ _Friend_ is pushing it a little. You were horrible to her.”

“I suspect that’s why. I must have been so attracted to her that I convinced myself I hated her.”

Brienne and Jaime’s eyes flickered to meet, and Cersei laughed. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed it does,” Brienne said. “What was it you compared me to? A horse?”

“Something of the sort,” Jaime said, and chuckled. “In my defence, I was half-dead and covered in my own shit.”

“Well, that’s no excuse.”

Jaime gasped. “Were you attracted to Lysa Tully?”

“Lysa Tully _Arryn?”_ Brienne asked, eyes wide. “As in, Lady Catelyn’s sister?”

Cersei shook her head. “I thought about it, but I don’t think so. She was absolutely hateful. Besides, weren’t you supposed to marry her?”

Jaime scoffed. “I’d forgotten about that. I made a lucky escape there.”

Cersei smiled, and looked down. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing.”

“You thought that both of us were going to hate you forever because you were attracted to women,” Jaime said. “You are allowed to laugh a little after all you’ve been through today.”

“So are you,” she said. “I’m sorry about Tyrion.”

Jaime looked stung, like she’d brought up something he hadn’t wanted to be reminded of. “I know you’re not,” Jaime said. “I know you’re not going to miss him.”

“But you are,” Cersei said. “And I’m sorry about that.”

“Our father really is hateful, isn’t he?” Jaime said.

“He seems so,” Brienne agreed.

She paused for a moment, like she was trying to come up with a question. Cersei tensed up, fearing for a moment that Brienne was about to confront her about her feelings towards her.

“This may be a little out of place for me to ask,” she said, “but do you really care so much about what I think that my disgust matters to you?”

Cersei had no idea how to respond to that, because she was right. Most people’s opinions didn’t matter to her, and she didn’t give a damn if people thought she was disgusting or evil or whatever they called her as long as they held some degree of respect and fear from her. The two were more similar than most people thought. But she had really, genuinely, feared Brienne’s revulsion, perhaps even more so than Jaime’s.

“I suppose you’re my only friend,” Cersei said. “At least the only one that matters. I know you don’t think very highly of me, and I wouldn’t expect you to, and I didn’t want to make that any worse.”

“I never thought you’d care about my opinion.”

Cersei scoffed. “Neither did I, but here we are.”

“And for what it’s worth, I do think highly of you. You are…you are so strong, and determined, and you never give up.”

“Even when you should,” Jaime added, and Cersei rolled her eyes teasingly.

“Even when you should. But I admire that about you. And just telling us this, when you were so afraid of it yourself, is so admirable.”

Cersei smiled, and clasped both of their hands at once, still nestled between them. “Thank you both so much. You have no idea how much this has been weighing me down.”

“I can only imagine,” Jaime said. It felt so good, to be able to have this sort of emotional intimacy with him, without being stifled by the physical intimacy of their relationship. How many times had they fucked out an argument or an issue when it could have been resolved much earlier by simply sitting down and talking?

It was strange, somehow, that becoming further apart had helped them to grow closer.

“Not to be inappropriate again,” he said, “but have you ever…”

“Yes.” Cersei knew exactly what he was asking. “I have.”

“Seriously? Who?”

Cersei shook her head. “I refused to tell Tyrion, and I will refuse to tell you. Then again, he managed to figure it out.”

Jaime’s eyes widened. “So he knew her?”

“I will take this secret to my grave.” _So will he._ She blinked hard as the solemn memory of Tyrion’s fate came back to her, momentarily blocked by the relief of finally telling Jaime and Brienne the truth.

Well. Some of the truth.

“It’s getting late,” Cersei said, suddenly overcome with the realisation that she was definitely overstaying her welcome. “I should retire to my chambers. And leave you two to your own…devices.”

“You seem to be under the impression that we’re at it all the time,” Jaime said, and Brienne immediately winced. “Sorry,” he said as an afterthought.

“Have you seen yourselves? You can hardly keep your hands off each other.”

Jaime wrapped an arm around Brienne’s shoulders. “Well, with a woman this beautiful, how could I not?”

Brienne flushed modestly. It occurred to Cersei that she must have been so used to being told that she was ugly and brutish, that having a man like Jaime tell her that she was beautiful and practically worship her must have been quite the shock to her system.

Cersei wondered if all those men who had insulted her appearance had been visually impaired. In the dim candlelight of the room, Cersei could understand how Jaime worshipped her: she was practically a goddess.

She nodded. “Good night. Sleep well.”

“You too.”

-

That night, as she tossed and turned and faded in and out of consciousness, she couldn’t stop thinking about killing her father. The canopy of her bed became a canvas of Tywin Lannister’s death, painted with his blood and tears a million times over in Cersei’s mind.

But as it turned out, she had no reason to become the artist of his destruction.

Because that night, Tyrion was set free, and just before he escaped, he killed their father with a crossbow, and nothing would ever be the same again.


	10. In The Absence Of Grief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei, Brienne and Jaime deal - or rather, don't deal - with Tywin's death accordingly. Sansa and Margaery have a mutual revelation a little too late, and find themselves more entwined in Cersei's plotting than they anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Welcome back to this disaster of a fic that no one asked for. Here, we're at the start of Season 5, and while I've mostly followed canon timeline up to this point, there is a little bit of jumping around after this. I'll try to explain this clearly so I don't overcomplicate things, and I hope you enjoy it anyway.

**Jaime**

Jaime wished that Westeros would do away with the hateful tradition of putting stones over the eyes of the dead. It was unnecessary, really, and only made you feel like the dead were watching you. The unblinking eye stones had haunted him when he looked upon his dead son, and they had the same effect now that he guarded his father’s corpse.

The last time he had been inside the sept, he’d made what was simultaneously the best and worst decision of his life. Having sex with Cersei next to their dead son had been absolute rock bottom for both of them, but from that point on they had both been determined to climb back up again. 

“You’ve been staring at him for far too long,” Brienne told him. “Don’t look at the eyes.”

Jaime blinked, and looked up at her. She was standing on the opposite side of his corpse, the two of them supposedly guarding the body in preparation for the funeral.

No one in Westeros would mourn this man, he knew. Least of all his children.

“I can’t help it,” Jaime said. 

Brienne looked down at him. “You know, I genuinely thought Cersei would be the one to kill him. I’m surprised Tyrion got to him first.”

The words should have been teasing, sarcastic, but Brienne’s tone was deadly serious.

“I almost asked her,” Jaime said. “If she would help me to set him free.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Jaime sighed. “You know what Cersei’s like. I can never quite tell what she’s planning, and neither can anyone. I expect she would have said yes, but...it wasn’t worth the risk. All I needed to know was that Tyrion made it out alive, and he did, but…” He gestured down at his father. “He took our father with him. Shae, too: you remember the whore who testified at his trial.” 

“As long as he’s alive.”

Jaime nodded. “As long as he’s alive. I’m sorry to involve you in all this, Brienne. It’s an unpleasant affair, our family, and I can’t tell if his death is going to make that better or worse.”

Brienne walked quickly around Tywin’s corpse to stand next to Jaime. “You don’t have to apologise. I love you-” he tensed up at that, as her hand brushed his, because he still wasn’t used to this and that wave of euphoria still washed over him every time their eyes met. “-and that means I want to help you. All the time, no matter what, unless you don’t want me to, because I know you would do the same for me.”

Jaime looked at the floor bashfully. “You love me?”

“How many times do I have to say it?” She whacked his arm lightly. “Of course I do. And your family is...what it is. But I know that, and I accept that.” She looked down at Tywin’s body. “Still, this is very strange.” 

Jaime had cried when they first found his body, because of the strangeness of it all, and the knowledge that he would never see his father again. But as the initial feelings faded and he remembered the sort of man his father was, and what he had done to Cersei and to Tyrion, Jaime found an absence of grief.

Another Kingsguard entered the main hall of the Sept from outside, and Jaime and Brienne spring apart.

“Ser Jaime, the Queen is on her way to the sept. She has told the mourners to remain outside for now.”

Jaime nodded stoically as the guard went back outside. 

“Speaking of unpleasant affairs,” he said with a tilt of his head.

“Do you think she’s angry?”

Jaime shrugged. “I wish I had any idea.”

**Cersei**

Cersei should have been angry. Fuming, even. Dying on the privy was so undignified, and for her little brother to have escaped his death sentence only to kill the man who had sent him to it was tragic in every sense of the word.

It was perfect. 

Two days before she might have cried, mourned, hated her brothers for allowing this to happen. But after her altercation with her father, the only thing she mourned was that she hadn’t been the one to shoot the crossbow. 

But of course, publicly, she had to play the dutiful, grieving daughter. As she walked up the steps to the Sept, she felt their eyes on her, scrutinising her to see if she would let her facade slip and reveal how she truly felt. She would not. 

The stifling air in the Sept was always so oppressive. Breathing it felt like having a pillow clamped over your face, and that was only amplified with the stench of death that permeated the chamber. 

“I didn’t expect you to be here so early,” Jaime said. 

“I wanted to get it over with.”

“Why make the mourners wait?”

She stepped closer to her father’s body. “I wanted a moment alone with our  _ dear  _ father.” 

The three of them looked at his body for a moment, in silence. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Brienne said stiffly. 

Cersei let out a laugh. It was a quiet one, but it echoed throughout the chamber eerily. “Terrible timing, isn’t it? I expect they’re rejoicing throughout the Seven Kingdoms.”

“Really?” Brienne asked. 

“You would be surprised as to how many enemies our father has.” Cersei reached for one of his cold, dead hands, and lifted it off his body.

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked, clearly disgusted. “Don’t touch it.”

Cersei ignored him. She turned over the hand, and pulled the ring off his index finger. 

“You see this ring?” she said, holding it up to the candlelight. “This is the ring that he cut my face with. Drew my blood with.” Her other hand came unconsciously to the wound, which now formed an ugly scab she had diligently covered with powder. 

“Please tell me you’re not going to keep it,” Brienne said, as Cersei pocketed it. “That’s disgusting.”

“So is hurting your own daughter,” she said, stepping away from the corpse. She saw Jaime and Brienne exchange an uncomfortable look, but elected to ignore it. 

“You set him free.” It was a statement, not a question. 

“Yes.” There was no hesitation in his answer. 

“And where is he now?”

Jaime shrugged. “I haven’t a clue. Far away, presumably. Maybe Essos.”

Cersei chuckled. Good. Having Tyrion alive, but far away from her, was the best solution to that particular problem. 

“What a fitting end,” Brienne said, causing both the Lannisters to look up at her. 

“Being killed by his own son?”

“Dying on the privy.” She looked down at him with disdain. “Not very dignified.”

“The man who shits gold,” Jaime said, “dying mid-shit.”

All three of them laughed. It was crude, and it was unnecessary to joke about him like that, but they were all glad to see him dead, all united in that. 

“Fuck him,” Cersei said decisively. 

Brienne nodded. “ _ Fuck _ him.”

“Fuck  _ him _ .” Jaime looked over at Cersei. “Do you remember what Tyrion said when I told him we’d stopped our affair?”

“Oh, yes.” Cersei smiled to herself. “That all it would take was another death in the family.”

“Well, he was wrong.”

Brienne looked back and forth between them. “I’m sorry, am I missing something? What do you mean, another death in the family?”

“It’s a...long and unpleasant story,” Jaime said cautiously. 

“But with a happy ending,” Cersei said, pointing a glance at the two of them. 

“A very happy ending.” Jaime linked Brienne’s arm with his affectionately, and she grinned at him. “Shall we take our seats? We can only keep the mourners out for so long.”

Cersei nodded, and the three of them walked up the stairs. She tried to ignore the jealousy that settled into her stomach - after all she’d said the night before, she had thought it would do something to dull her feelings for Brienne, but all it had done was made them worse, or so it would seem. 

She pushed the feeling away for what felt like the millionth time. It seemed that she would just have to deal with them for as long as her own heart betrayed her. 

**Sansa**

“I hope I’m not taking up too much of your time, Margaery.”

They had been walking together for ten minutes or so, as they always seemed to do. Walking was the best way to have a conversation without being listened in on, at least not conveniently. 

Margaery’s head immediately snapped towards her. “Why on earth would you think that?”

Sansa pursed her lips, immediately regretting saying it. Margaery was her only friend in this city, she knew that much, and yet Margaery had so many matters to attend to, far more important than a pathetic girl from the North who was little more than a prisoner. 

“I - I just spend so much time with you these days. I hope I’m not bothering you.”

Margaery laughed, the lilting sound enough to make Sansa smile against her own will. “Sansa. You’re not bothering me. You’re my  _ friend. _ And besides.” She lowered her voice and moved her face closer to Sansa’s, which made her flush a little. It was so hot in King’s Landing, even in the evening. “Who do you think I’d rather spend time with? My darling mother-in-law to be? Or my betrothed?”

Sansa chuckled. “I can’t believe you’re marrying him. He’s what, twelve?”

“Sixteen. But he hardly looks it, does he?” She smiled coyly. “The Lannisters aren’t marrying you off to anyone, are they?”

Sansa scoffed. “I’m sure they’ll find someone to cart me off to.”

“Speaking of which, we should probably fetch Loras. It’s almost time for dinner.”

Strange. Sansa hadn’t even seen Loras since she’d returned to the capital, and she had hardly given him a passing thought. Even though she’d once been enamoured with him, or so she’d thought. 

As if she’d read her mind, Margaery suddenly said, “Are you still attracted to him? Loras, I mean.”

Sansa looked down. “I know he’s...you know...not that way inclined.”

“That’s not what I asked.” Her tone was playful, but there was an urgency behind her eyes. 

“I suppose not.”

Margaery nodded. “Ah. Here we are.” 

They came to a stop outside a door. Margaery let go of Sansa’s arm, and a memory danced over her consciousness. 

_ Most women don’t know what they like until they’ve tried it. Some women like...pretty girls… _

“Margaery?”

Her head turned. “Yes?”

There was a question on the tip of Sansa’s tongue, but she couldn’t quite form it into words. Her mouth hung open like that, until Margaery lightly pressed the door, and the words  _ what if it wasn’t Loras but someone else  _ popped into her mind - 

“Loras!” Margaery covered Sansa’s eyes. She heard some scrambling and rustling of sheets and a muffled  _ fuck  _ as Margaery entered the bedroom.  “Would it kill you to be a little more discrete?” She tilted her head towards Sansa. “We have  _ company.” _

“Company, huh?”

“Very funny. Sort yourself out. And you - what’s your name again?”   


“Olyvar?”

“Olyvar - get out.”

Sansa squinted under Margaery’s hand. “Can I - what’s going on?”

“I’m so sorry, Sansa. My brother has never heard of public decency.” Margaery removed her hand, clearly having deemed Loras’ state of dress appropriate. He was still shirtless, but was at least somewhat decent. 

Sansa looked at his half-naked form, trying to conjure up any spark of attraction. Nothing. 

Her eyes flitted to Margaery.  _ Shit.  _

“Come in, then, if you’re going to hang about in the doorway like that,” Loras said insistently. His partner was still pulling on his boots, frantically dressing himself. 

Margaery stepped inside, beckoning Sansa to follow her. Sansa closed the door behind them and stood in the middle of the room, unsure where to go. 

“I like this new look,” Loras said, indicating her dress. “It’s...different.”

“Thank you.” Sansa had made her first dress like this to try to blend in better in the North and to appeal to Littlefinger, but she found that she quite liked the darker colours. It made her feel stronger, somehow, not to be dressed in the light-coloured silks and satins she had been shoved into her whole life. 

Margaery rolled her eyes. “Don’t encourage him, Sansa.”

Olyvar was fully dressed now, and he pushed past Sansa to run out of the room, clearly deeply embarrassed. 

“You know, your betrothed won’t appreciate you cavorting with men.”   
  


“Cersei and I are not going to get married. Not now Tywin Lannister is dead. And besides, she cavorts with whoever she likes. Why shouldn’t I do the same?”

“Do you remember when we saw her in the gardens?” Sansa said excitedly. “She was sword fighting with Jaime.”

Loras scoffed. “And here I thought those were just rumours. Though I wouldn’t think such a couple as that would be prone to exhibitionism.”

“Don’t be disgusting. They were actually sparring,” Margaery said sternly. A beam of light illuminated her face softly, and Sansa couldn’t help but stare. “And Brienne was there too. Honestly, I don’t even like the man, but she and Jaime make such a lovely couple.”

This was the first Sansa had heard of this. “Brienne of Tarth...and Jaime Lannister? They’re together?”

“You didn’t know?”

Sansa threw her hands up. “I get dragged up north for two weeks and I miss everything.”

“Not  _ everything.”  _ Margaery turned her attention back to her brother. “Loras, would you mind getting dressed now? Betrothed or not, Cersei will not like being kept waiting.”

“Not  _ everything.”  _ Margaery turned her attention back to her brother. “Loras, would you mind getting dressed now? Betrothed or not, Cersei will not like being kept waiting.”

“Could I at least get a little privacy?”

Margaery sighed, and turned to face the wall. Sansa followed suit, grateful for an excuse not to look at Margaery.

“I apologise for my brother,” Margaery said.

“It’s fine,” Sansa said, suddenly recalling a very uncomfortable incident involving Littlefinger and her aunt. “I’ve endured worse.”

“It’s nice of you to join us, Sansa,” Loras said. “Margaery likes having you around, and it’ll do her some good to have a… _ friend.” _

There was something in Loras’ tone on that last word that made Sansa uneasy. Margaery seemed to pick up on it too: she twitched a little next to her.

“Well, I’m just glad you’ll have me,” Sansa said. “I might die in the next few weeks, but at least someone wants me around.”

“Why do you think you’re going to die?”

“You know what Cersei’s like. She probably only brought me back instead of killing me so she could find some new way to torture me before she finds some excuse to have me executed.”

“I won’t let anything like that happen to you. I’ve promised you before, and I’ll promise you again. _ Now _ ,” she said, her tone much lighter, but quieter, as if she didn’t want Loras overhearing. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

She took her hand, and Sansa flushed again. Margaery was so tactile, always holding her and touching her, and every time she did it amplified the uncertainty building in her chest.

The second Margaery’s skin met hers, Sansa knew she had tensed up, and she gasped a little, the action involuntary.

In that split second where Margaery picked up on this, Sansa’s heart dropped through her stomach.  _ She’s figured it out,  _ she thought, without being entirely sure of what she’d figured out.

No. She knew. She just couldn’t quite put it into words.

Her eyes flitted down to their hands.

“Oh,” Margaery said.

Sansa looked back up at her, trying to think of something, anything to say.

“You can turn around now,” Loras said, perhaps more cheerful than he should be. Both of them started a little and turned around sharply, their hands breaking apart.

“Excellent,” Margaery said stiffly, her eyes still locked on Sansa. “I’m – I’m very hungry.”

“Me too.” Sansa wiped her hand on the side of her dress, suddenly feeling very clammy.

Loras looked at the two of them. “Is something wrong?

“No,” they both said,  _ definitely  _ not being subtle,

“Good. Let’s go, then.”

They couldn’t talk about this now. Perhaps they couldn’t talk about this  _ ever,  _ not really. Because Margaery was getting married very soon, and then they would never be able to discuss it or deal with these feelings.

Sansa nodded politely as she withered inside, knowing they had come to a mutual realisation at exactly the wrong time.

“Yes,” she said, her voice still shaky. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I may or may not be rubbing my hands together gleefully about the next couple of chapters. Mwahaha, Feedback would be appreciated as always! :)


	11. Worst Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the morning of Tommen's wedding, Cersei gives Brienne a gift, and a plan of hers finally comes to fruition, throwing a spanner into Margaery's works. At the wedding, tensions are running high, and Jaime's good intentions to protect Cersei have consequences none of them could have anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, it's timeline jumping around time. So here, because of the logistics of travelling in a medieval world, the message from Dorne doesn't reach King's Landing until after Tommen and Margaery's wedding. (That's the in-universe explanation, anyway.) Because of this, no one leaves for Dorne until after...ahem. Until after all this is over.

**Cersei**

It was the morning of Tommen and Margaery’s wedding, and Cersei was decidedly not feeling the celebratory atmosphere of the event. Then again, she doubted anyone was, considering the bitter taste the last royal wedding had left in everyone’s mouths.

Perhaps this time, it would be the bride who would get poisoned. Cersei allowed a smirk to appear on her face at the thought of Margaery choking like Joffrey had, but she knew that she couldn’t cause that to happen. She would be the obvious suspect, and her son would likely never forgive her, which she couldn’t live with. 

A knock on her door interrupted her from her thoughts. “Cersei?”

Cersei quickly walked towards the door, hoping that what she was about to do wasn’t a terrible idea. 

“Brienne,” she said with a smile. “You received my note, I wasn’t sure if it would get to you.”

Her expression was understandably sceptical. “I did. Though I wasn’t quite sure what you meant.”

“Forgive me for being cryptic,” Cersei said. Her eyes flickered to Brienne’s hip, where her sword rested. “You’ve already been down to the sparring pit, I see.”

Brienne nodded. “Jaime wanted to practise. Sorry that we didn’t invite you along, I thought you’d appreciate the extra sleep.”

“Of course.” She had drunk a fair amount of wine the night before, and her headache was only just fading. Although, not as much as she suspected she would have to drink tonight. “You two do need some time alone.”

She stepped back into her chambers, urging Brienne to follow her.

“I hope this isn’t improper of me,” she said, walking towards her wardrobe. “And I hope you don’t take this the wrong way.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cersei was almost nervous as she took the package out, unwrapping the cloth the present was encased in.

“I…” This had been a terrible idea. How could she explain this? “I had something made for you. It was under short notice, but I think the seamstresses did an excellent job.”

Brienne’s eyes widened as she realised what it was. “Oh.”

“I know you don’t usually wear gowns, and you don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to, but I thought it would be nice to wear for the wedding. And since Jaime had that lovely suit of armour made for you, I thought it right to give you a present of my own.” She handed the garment to Brienne, who took in the details.

It was a beautiful blue gown, made of sapphire silk with golden embroidered thread over the bodice and sleeves, forming small suns and moons of the Tarth sigil across the chest and shoulders. Cersei had been sure to pay attention when commissioning her seamstresses: broad shoulders, a wide skirt, and a shape that did not restrict Brienne’s movements or cinch her waist too much. The sleeves were fitted to her arms, not draped like Cersei’s, allowing freedom of movement. 

“I…it’s beautiful,” Brienne said, lost for words. “But I can’t accept this. I – it must have cost a lot of money, and you-”

“I am a  _ Lannister,”  _ Cersei said. “Money means very little to us. And it’s not like I can wear it, is it? Besides, Jaime always said how beautiful you look in blue.”

Brienne smiled a little. “He did?”

“I can hardly get him to  _ stop  _ talking about you,” Cersei said, which was true. “And like I said, you don’t have to wear it today, or ever. Just take it as a token of my…” Affection? She couldn’t say affection. “Of my gratitude. For being a good friend to me, and excellent company for my brother.”

It occurred to her then that Cersei had never done anything so nice for anyone without wanting something in return, except perhaps for her children. She had never been inclined to. 

Well, there was _ something _ she wanted in return. But this wasn’t an attempt to get it.

Brienne nodded decisively and laid the dress on Cersei’s bed. “I’ll wear it today. Thank you so much, Your – Cersei.”

“You are most welcome,” Cersei said.

Brienne began unlacing her tunic.

“Oh,” Cersei said. “I can…I’ll go to my bathroom while you change.”

Brienne hardly seemed to notice her go, too busy getting the dress on. Cersei waited patiently for a few minutes, perching on the edge of her bath and silently thanking any gods that might still be smiling on her that Brienne liked her gift. It helped ease the restlessness that had been brought on by the wedding, that was for sure.

“Cersei?”

“Yes?”

Brienne grunted a little. “Can you…I can’t lace it up.”

Cersei winced. “Is it too small? I can always…”

“No, I just…I haven’t laced a dress in a long time.”

Oh, of course. Cersei quickly walked back into her bedchambers to see Brienne with the dress half on. It fit well, the length was just right and it went around her waist. Brienne was just struggling with the lacings on the back.

“I can do that for you,” Cersei said.  _ How absurd,  _ she thought.  _ Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms lacing the dress of some highborn lady like a serving maid. _

She carefully laced the back of her gown up, climbing higher up her spine to reach the freckled expanse of skin between her shoulders. It was warm, Cersei found as she gently brushed it with her fingers, like the sun was forever shining on it, and smooth. She tried not to let her touch linger, her fingertips dancing gently between her skin and the fabric.

“There you go,” she said as she tied the final knot at the top. “All done.”

Brienne turned around, and Cersei had to restrain a little gasp. It was  _ stunning  _ on her, truly, and she was more beautiful than any of the delicate ladies who flitted about the court. More beautiful even than the bride, Cersei suspected, but what made it better was that she still looked like Brienne, not like she had been forced into some dress made for another woman.

Cersei contained her grin and replaced it with a small, satisfied smile. “You look incredible.”

“I don’t know how I can ever thank you,” Brienne said.

“I don’t want anything in return,” Cersei said. “Don’t tell me you’re still inclined to think it’s a trick.”

“Of course not,” Brienne said. “I-”

“Cersei?” said a voice at the door, accompanied by an impatient tapping that could only mean her brother was waiting outside. “What did you want with Brienne?”

Cersei made eye contact with Brienne, and smirked.

“Go and open it,” she said quietly. “Let him see.”

Brienne nodded, and walked slowly over. She unlatched the door cautiously.

Cersei had never seen anyone look so transfixed and overwhelmed as Jaime was as he took in the sight of Brienne in her new dress. His jaw dropped, and he didn’t even properly respond for a few seconds. It looked like he couldn’t figure out the right words. 

“Seven  _ hells,”  _ was all he could say. “I – what-”

“Cersei had it made for me,” Brienne said. “For the wedding.”

Jaime could hardly speak. “You look… _ otherworldly.”  _ Cersei hadn’t even realised that word was in his vocabulary.

“You’re welcome,” Cersei said, and Jaime’s eyes met hers.

“Thank you,” he said.

“I didn’t have it made for you!”

“Can I just say,” he said to Brienne, “you don’t look any less beautiful than you do when you’re in armour. You’re always…breathtaking. But this dress…” He looked her up and down again. “It’s something else.”

“Much better than that pink monstrosity they put me in at Harrenhal,” Brienne said, and Jaime chuckled.

“You were beautiful in that too,” he said.

“I was fighting a  _ bear.” _

__ “That was the most beautiful part.” 

Brienne pulled him in for a kiss, and Cersei looked away respectfully.

“Oh, get a room,” she said, after what felt like hours. “Preferably not mine.”

Jaime broke away. “You give her a dress like this, and you expect us to be able to keep our hands off each other?”

Cersei winced as she recalled the feeling of Brienne’s skin under her touch. “I can never expect you to do that. At least try to keep it  _ on  _ for now.”

Brienne scoffed. 

“Well, thank you,” Jaime said. “Again.” He looked at Brienne. “And thank you for being the most incredible woman I’ve ever met.” He kissed her softly on the cheek.

Cersei hadn’t believed in this sort of love for a long time, not since Robert Baratheon had moaned Lyanna’s name in her ear that fateful night and all her illusions of romance and passion had been shattered.

Strangely enough, and in a turn of events she would have turned her nose up at three weeks ago, Jaime and Brienne had made her believe in love again.

It was so,  _ so  _ cruel that fate had drawn her attraction to Brienne like that.

She smiled it off, hoping her emotions hadn’t been conveyed by her expression. “Shall we go downstairs, then? I’m sure all the nobles and courtiers are dying to speak to us before the wedding starts.”

Jaime and Brienne linked arms, and Cersei was more than prepared to walk awkwardly beside them, but then Brienne linked her other arm with hers.

She should have said something, but was unfortunately rendered speechless. Curse her stupid,  _ stupid  _ affections.

Instead, she smiled again, and the three of them walked down the corridors, laughing and talking despite the fact that this was the day Cersei had dreaded for so long.

Perhaps, with them around, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Or perhaps it would be worse.

**Margaery**

Margaery had long since dismissed her handmaidens.  _ Leave me be now,  _ she’d said with a smile on her face ever playing the blushing bride even though this was her third marriage.  _ I need some time alone.  _

They’d scurried away, leaving her to sit on her bed, alone in her chambers, almost afraid to move a muscle in case her hair came cascading down out of its ridiculous updo and anxiously anticipating the ceremony ahead. 

He wasn’t Joffrey, and that was something. With the few times she’d spoken to him, she got the impression that he was a sweet, gentle boy, nothing like his mother or his brother, if a little naive and innocent. 

A knock on the door disrupted her from her thoughts. Who would be coming to see her now?

“Margaery?”

_ But he isn’t Sansa either.  _

“Sansa!” She bolted up from the bed, keeping one hand on her ridiculous hair, and went to the door. “What are you doing here?”

“You look  _ amazing,”  _ Sansa said. She hadn’t dressed up much for the occasion: a silent but powerful act of rebellion on her behalf. “Can I come in?”

Margaery nodded, and she made sure to bolt the door when she closed it. 

“This is a really, really bad time,” Sansa said. She was incredibly jittery, and that only made Margaery’s anxieties worse. “But I had to come by and say it. I couldn’t - I didn’t see you after dinner last night, and there was nothing else I could do…”

The night before, Margaery had fantasised about this conversation. But she had known that there wasn’t a hope in the seven hells that her desperate interpretation of Sansa’s feelings had been correct, and that she was a fool to want this, what with her marriage to Tommen imminent. 

Sometimes fate could be kind, though. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Sansa said. “I don’t even understand what I’m feeling, not properly. But...I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know you know I can’t, and that there’s something - I don’t even know what I’m talking about.” Her eyes glistened with budding tears. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here, what I’m trying to tell you, because I’m-”

Margaery grabbed Sansa’s hands. Her blue eyes bore into hers, pupils wide and glimmering. 

“I know,” Margaery said. “At least I think I do. And I am so, so sorry.”

“Sorry that you don’t feel the same way?” 

“I’m sorry that I do.” Margaery couldn’t believe this was happening. Not now, not right before her wedding, not when the last thing she needed was to be thinking about someone else.

The two of them looked at each other for a moment, in disbelief, not sure what to do or think or say. 

Then Sansa leaned in slowly, shaking a little. She looked at Margaery, inches from her face, her breath hot on her skin, eyes full of concern as if asking for permission.

Margaery nodded. 

Their lips met, and Sansa put a hand on the back of her neck.  _ Fuck my hairstyle,  _ Margaery thought, as Sansa’s hand caressed the soft, warm skin there as her mouth pressed further into hers. 

The kiss had started off tenderly, as if neither of them wanted to break the other, but after months and months of waiting and watching and not knowing if Sansa was dead or alive or worse, Margaery couldn’t hold back, and neither could Sansa. She pulled Sansa closer and put one hand in the back of her loose hair, running her fingers through it, and Sansa let out a little gasp. 

Before she knew what was happening, Sansa was pressing her into the wall next to her bed, cupping her face with her hands and still,  _ still  _ passionately kissing her. Margaery wasn’t even sure if she was awake at this point, or if this was all some far-flung dream, and she would wake up on the morning of her wedding without Sansa Stark’s body pressing into hers. 

But, the improbability of the situation aside, she knew she wasn’t dreaming. This was real. And that was the most heartbreaking thing of all. 

As if detecting her tension, Sansa pulled away, eyes full of lust and panic. “We can’t - no - I’m sorry - you, you’re getting married today, and I shouldn’t have-”

“You don’t have anything to apologise for,” Margaery said, putting a hand on Sansa’s shoulder to calm her down. “Don’t be sorry now, Sansa.”

“I’ve never done that before,” Sansa said breathlessly. “With anyone. And I - I’ve fucked everything up now, and you...and Tommen...and-”

“You haven’t fucked anything up,” Margaery said.  _ I’m the one who’s made a mess of this situation.  _ “I love you.”

Sansa blinked in disbelief. “What?”

“I - I’ve loved you for a long time. Maybe before you went North, maybe after, I don’t know-”

“I love you too.”

“Oh,” was all Margaery could say. Because of course she did. They’d just kissed each other, and it had still taken them verbal confirmation to realise the truth. 

“And you’re getting married now.”

Margaery laughed hopelessly. “Right now.”

“What are we going to do?”

Margaery closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “I don’t know.” She looked anxiously at the door. “And I don’t think we have time to figure it out, because I need to be downstairs soon.”

“Seven hells,” Sansa said. “Your hair.”

Margaery opened her mouth to protest, to say that it didn’t matter, but Sansa turned her around and immediately started fixing it, smoothing it and tucking it into the collar of her gown. 

“Thank you,” she said. 

“It’s the best I can do,” Sansa said, “but hopefully no one will notice.”

When she was done - and it was done very quickly - Margaery turned back to face her. 

“Whatever happens,” she said, hoping she sounded calm, “just know that I love you. And love or not, you are my best friend in the world, and I-”

“You won’t let anything bad happen to me,” Sansa said. “I know. But you have to remember that you need protecting as well.”

“Maybe we can protect each other.”

Sansa nodded, her pale cheeks flushing again. “I’d like that.” She looked towards the door. “I’ll go down now. We shouldn’t go together, it’ll-”

“Right,” Margaery said. “You go. I’ll see you afterwards.”

Sansa nodded, and walked out hurriedly, smoothing her own hair down on the way out.

Margaery clenched her fists, cursing herself for being such an idiot. She had sworn, before, not to let her feelings for Sansa get in the way of her plans, of her determination to become queen and to stop Cersei from controlling Tommen. 

But that was before they were reciprocated.

**Cersei**

Cersei wasn’t sure how much alcohol it was appropriate to consume at your son’s wedding feast, but it had to be less than this. Even by her standards, she was very, very drunk, and intended to keep herself that way as long as she had to be sitting two people over from Margaery fucking Tyrell. 

As she went to take another sip, a hand pulled her wine glass away from her. 

“Hey!” Cersei said. 

Jaime scowled. “You shouldn’t drink so much. You might do something stupid.”

“I am  _ not  _ drinking so much,” she said, in a way that made it very obvious that she was. “And I always do something stupid.”

“I know,” Jaime said. “That’s why this is for your own good.”

“Are you all right, Cersei?” Brienne said, from one seat over, next to Jaime. She looked a little intoxicated as well, though not as much as Cersei, certainly. 

“I’m fine,” she huffed. “I don’t need you two guarding my every move.”

“We’re not  _ guarding  _ you,” Brienne said. “We’re looking out for you. There’s a difference.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Fine, then, looking out for me.”

“I’m serious, though,” Jaime said. “No more wine tonight.”

“You sound like Father.” Cersei laughed a little at her own joke, not sure if it was that funny. 

Brienne and Jaime shot each other a concerned look. 

The band started to play a different song. 

“Why don’t you two go and dance,” Cersei said, suddenly desperate to get rid of them. “Show off your pretty new dress to everyone.”

“The Rains of Castamere is hardly a dancing song.”

“Other people are dancing,” Cersei said, nodding towards the centre of the hall. “Go, have fun. Leave your miserable, wretched, drunk sister to her own devices.”

Jaime looked lost for words at that, but Brienne grabbed his arm and pulled him away. 

“Why don’t we try to enjoy the night, huh?” she said to him, looking at Cersei over his shoulder. She nodded in response. “Come on, Jaime.”

Jaime got up reluctantly, and the two of them walked towards the rest of the dancing couples. 

“Fucking idiot,” Cersei said, reaching for her glass, not sure if she was talking about Jaime or Brienne or herself. 

“They’re such a lovely couple,” Margaery said, seemingly to no one in particular. Cersei rolled her eyes at the sound of her voice. “Don’t you think so, Mother?”

_ Don’t you fucking test me,  _ Cersei thought, but instead she smiled and said, “They are. They make each other very happy.”

She took a second look at Margaery. Her cheeks looked very flushed, which was unusual for the pale girl, and there was a brightness in her eyes. Perhaps she had just been drinking as well, but there was something else there. Cersei narrowed her eyes, not sure if she was imagining things or not. 

“You make me very happy,” Tommen said, though neither of them paid attention to him. 

Cersei’s attention was drawn away from Margaery by the sudden arrival of Sansa Stark at their table. 

“Your Grace,” she said. “I wanted to wish both of you the deepest of happiness in your marriage.”

Margaery nodded. “Thank you, Sansa. We appreciate your wishes.”

Sansa grinned back.

Perhaps she was letting the wine go to her head, but there was something in Sansa’s eyes she hadn’t seen the day before. The same thing she had just seen in Margaery’s, especially when fixated on her. Neither of them were even registering Tommen - or Cersei, for that matter. 

A smirk started to form on Cersei’s face as she realised what that  _ thing  _ likely was. She couldn’t be too sure of herself, but her instincts told her that at least part of her plan had worked.

“It’s nice to see you,  _ little dove,”  _ she said, finally pulling Sansa’s attention away from Margaery. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want to show your face after what happened the last time you were at a wedding.”

Sansa paled, but she stood her ground. “I told you. Littlefinger killed Joffrey. Believe me if you want, or don’t.”

Cersei raised an eyebrow. “That’s brave of you. A few months ago, you wouldn’t have even opened your mouth in front of me.”  _ Though I’m sure you’d open it for Margaery, if she asked.  _

“A lot can change in a few months,” Sansa said. 

Cersei’s eyes flitted to Margaery, and Sansa’s little blue eyes widened. “I’m sure they can.”

Was she right? Had they finally been pushed together, realising how they felt? 

“I’m glad you and Margaery are such good  _ friends,”  _ she said, recklessly testing the waters. “You get on so well. Don’t go getting jealous now, Tommen.”

Tommen looked very unsure of himself. “I-”

“I’m sure you won’t have to. See, Sansa here is-”

Cersei trailed off as she saw Brienne walking quickly through the dancing couples.  _ Fuck.  _

“Sansa,” Brienne said, her voice far too calm, not matching the expression on her face. “Can I speak to Cersei for a moment?”

Sansa nodded, looking almost grateful for Brienne giving her an exit strategy. She walked calmly away from the table.

Brienne walked around the table. “Come with me.”

“What?”

She lowered her voice. “Jaime sent me to take you to your chambers. You’ve had far too much to drink, and enough is enough. Leave Sansa alone.”

She crossed her arms like a petulant child. “No. I’m-”

“Can I remind you, Cersei, that while you might be of a higher status than me, and you might be my friend, but I can still overpower you a thousand to one and am not above dragging you out of this hall if I have to.”

“Mm,” Cersei said. She wasn’t really listening to what Brienne was saying. She looked  _ so  _ pretty in her new dress, and Cersei couldn’t stop looking at her. 

Brienne grabbed her wrist. “Come on.”

Cersei decided hazily that resisting was useless. “Fine.” She stood up shakily. 

“You don’t need me to carry you, do you?”

“Are you fucking joking?” Tommen’s eyes widened at his mother swearing. “I can walk fine.” 

Brienne didn’t look too convinced, but she conceded. “Fine, then. Let’s go upstairs.”

They didn’t talk much on the way up, Cersei having to keep one hand on Brienne’s shoulder. It helped that she was tall, and strong: if Cersei’s step faltered, she was firmly grounded by the woman next to her. 

“Will you be alright?” Brienne said, once they were sitting down on her bed. “Jaime told me to take care of you, he said that-”

“He knows what I can be like,” Cersei said, finishing her sentence for her. “Of course he does.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” 

Cersei nodded insistently, even though she knew she definitely didn’t need Brienne to stay with her. “I just need someone to - you know. In case I get all…” She moved her hands around vaguely. “Last time I got this drunk, I broke my cousin’s arm by pushing him to the ground and told Sansa...what did I tell her? That her best weapon was between her legs or something.”

“ _ Oh,”  _ Brienne said. “You didn’t tell her that again tonight, did you?”

“I don’t think so,” Cersei said. “And even if I did, it’s nothing she hasn’t heard before.”

They sat for a moment in silence, clearly not sure where to go with that particular thread of conversation. 

“I drink far too much,” Cersei said decisively. “I keep thinking it’ll solve things, but it usually makes things a lot worse.”

Brienne laughed. “That’s true. I’ll admit, I’m not entirely..with it, right now either.” She laughed a little. 

“I’m a bad influence,” Cersei said, nestling a little closer to Brienne. “You look so good in this dress.”

“You’re just saying that because you had it made for me,” Brienne said. 

Cersei shook her head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re like a...a fucking warrior goddess. That’s what you’re like.”

“Shut the fuck up. They call you the - oh gods, I just told the Queen to shut the fuck up. I’m so sorry." She clapped a hand over her mouth. 

“Don’t...don’t apologise. Besides, I’m not the queen anymore. Now, Margaery fucking Tyrell is the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Isn’t that bloody _amazing_.”

“Don’t think about that right now,” Brienne said, clearly remembering that she was meant to be taking care of Cersei. “I’ll get you some water.”

Cersei nodded. “How long are you going to stay?”

“As long as it takes to...I don’t know. Until you go to sleep or something.”

“Good,” Cersei said blurrily. “Good.”

-

When Cersei woke up the next morning, she realised three things, definitely in the wrong order.

The first was that she had a massive headache. 

The second was that she couldn’t quite recall what had happened last night. 

And the third - which really should have been first - was that there was someone in the bed next to her. And they were naked, as was she. 

Perhaps that should have been four things, then, but the third one knocked the air out of her lungs so quickly that it made the other two mostly irrelevant. 

She was facing the other way, and couldn’t see who it was. She couldn’t remember, either, if some strange man (or woman) had wandered into her bed last night. 

_ Oh, fuck, please don’t let it be Jaime. No, no, no _ , she thought, almost too afraid to turn around now.  _ Not after everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through...please don’t let us have fucked again and ruined everything we worked for.  _

They were still asleep, too, which didn’t help. 

Closing her eyes and bracing herself for the disappointment of a lifetime, she turned around.

She almost didn’t register who it was when she first saw them. It took her a moment to take it in, convince herself that she wasn’t dreaming. 

Then, came the slow dawning of horror, of realisation about what this meant, what must have happened last night, and what she was going to have to deal with now. 

Because, lying in the bed, next to her, was Brienne of Tarth.

“Brienne?” Cersei said, softly tapping her shoulder. The thought  _ I fucked Brienne of Tarth  _ came dimly into her mind, but that felt less important than getting her to wake up. “Brienne!”

Her blue eyes blinked open, and she recoiled from Cersei’s touch with a jolt.

“Cersei?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that happened. Thanks for reading, and as always feedback and thoughts in the comments would be appreciated.


	12. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Cersei and Brienne scramble to assess the situation, Cersei lets her paranoia get the better of her, and Brienne faces up to a difficult truth. While Oberyn might be dead, his influence in King’s Landing is more present than ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative title: The Idiots Finally Learn How To Communicate
> 
> Okay, first of all, I am sorry for leaving you on that hideous cliffhanger. Thanks for putting up with that. But here it is, without further ado, the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Drum roll, please.

**Cersei**

_…it was everything she’d been waiting for these past few weeks, everything she’d yearned for and more, the feeling of Brienne’s lips on hers, and then her lips on Brienne’s neck and the sound of her soft moans, deep and desperate_ _,_ _and then her fingers inside Brienne, mind hazy with drink and disbelief, thrusting slowly at first then roughly as she came undone beneath her, eyes shut and head back as Cersei whispered to her,_ come for me, darling, that’s it, you’re so beautiful, so good for me, _and then Brienne’s mouth on her and Cersei’s hands in her hair, dragging her down, down, down until Brienne worked her tongue over her, Cersei telling her how good and beautiful she was until she couldn’t anymore and words escaped her as pleasure washed over her, and she had no idea how long they’d been doing this or how much longer they would be doing it for, until it stopped and they both collapsed back on the bed, tired and drunk and satisfied, holding each other until they weren’t, until they couldn’t…_

Brienne immediately scrambled back. “I don’t – what? What did we – I can’t…” She started breathing heavily, clearly panicked.

“It’s alright,” Cersei said, even though it could not more clearly have _not_ been alright, and she was feeling more than a little panicky herself. Her headache was quickly forgotten. “Do you remember anything from last night?”

Brienne nodded. “I remember…taking you upstairs.” She pulled the sheets further over her body. “But I don’t remember much past that.”

“Right.” Cersei got out of bed frantically, pulling her wraparound robe on. “Right.”

“So we…”

“Apparently so.”

“Do _you_ remember anything?”

“Not much.”

“Great.” Brienne huffed. She looked like she couldn’t quite take stock of the situation, which Cersei didn’t blame her for.

“Do you mind me asking-”

“Clearly, we’ve gone past that,” Brienne said irritably.

“If you like women,” Cersei finished. 

“Can you try _not_ to make me think about things like that right now? I’m still trying to remember-.” Her eyes widened. “Shit. _Jaime.”_

Cersei tensed up. She hadn’t even considered him.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, which was a complete lie. How long had she longed after Brienne and waited for this moment? She cursed that glee building inside her, that sense of victory at finally getting what she wanted. Because it wasn’t what she wanted, not the consequences and the emotional implications. “I – fuck, he’s going to hate me. He’ll never forgive me-”

“Can you think about someone other than yourself for once in your life?” Brienne snapped.

Cersei stared at her for a second.

Brienne clenched her fist. “I’m sorry. I – I need to get dressed.”

She pulled on her crumpled dress in silence, not looking at Cersei. Cersei turned around as she uncovered her naked body, still feeling that sense of shame at looking at her despite what had happened last night.

“What _do_ you remember?” Cersei said, trying to maintain some air of calmness.

“I don’t remember when it started,” Brienne said, her tone bitter, “but I do remember…it happening. I remember you-” She lowered her voice. “I remember you inside me.”

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek, cringing at the memory.

“And I remember you saying something to me.” Brienne stood up, lacing her dress. “You said I was…good, and beautiful, and…something about you having waited for this for the longest time.” Her words slowed in realisation as she finished her sentence. “Is that true?”

Cersei didn’t turn around.

“I’m not going to be angry at you,” Brienne said, though the tone of her voice suggested otherwise. “But I will be angry at you if you lie to me.”

Cersei knew this was coming. Because this wasn’t just some one-night stand, not some drunken fuck she could blame on wine or anger or boredom. This was more to her. This was the culmination of weeks of confusion and self-hatred and jealousy, and she had never hated herself more.

“It’s true,” she said, still facing the wall, because if she looked at Brienne right then, she might cry.

“Seriously?”

“Of course it is!” Cersei said, finally willing herself to look at Brienne. “I _love you,_ Brienne. I love you more than I think I’ve loved anyone in my life, and I hate myself so much for that, because I am disgusting, and hateful, and I care about you and Jaime so, so much and I want you to be happy with each other, I really do, but I can’t, not really, because the second I set eyes on you…I don’t know why, and I don’t know how, but my stupid, _stupid_ heart has wanted you ever since I met you, and…” She broke down, crying, a pathetic sob escaping from her chest. “I love you. And you can…you can never look at me again, you can leave this room now and never come back, you can tell Jaime that I manipulated you and made you do things you didn’t want to do, because that’s the type of person I am, I take people in and I make them do terrible things for me. I did it for him and now I’m doing it for you, and…and…for fuck’s sake, just say something!” She was near screaming now, completely hysterical but unable to stop.

Brienne blinked, rooted to the spot. “You love me?”

“Yes!” It pained her to say it. Her throat burned with the tears and the sobbing, and the word came out as a pitiful croak.

Brienne looked at the floor. “You’re not disgusting. I told you that before.”

“That was before you knew you were the one I wanted.”

“I know. But I haven’t changed my mind. And I’m not about to walk away from you.” She stepped closer to Cersei, cautiously, as if approaching a wounded animal.

“You can, if you want.” She gritted her teeth. “I shouldn’t have told you all that. I should – I shouldn’t even have told you I liked women. Everything’s so much easier when it’s just in your mind, and the second it gets out, it’s…it just destroys everything.”

“That’s not true, Cersei.”

“Isn’t it? I acted on my feelings, and now look where we are.”

Brienne set her jaw. She looked like she didn’t know how to respond to that. She stood there for a few seconds, clearly deep in thought, and Cersei winced at the spark of attraction she still felt despite the terrible situation. Memories from the night before began to flicker through her mind, and she was reviled at the wave of arousal she felt as the images flashed before her eyes. All those years fucking her own brother, she had rarely felt even a twinge of disgust at her actions, but now she couldn’t escape her own self-loathing, and it was all because of this stupid, brilliant woman who had captured her heart.

“Listen, Cersei, you didn’t force me to do something I didn’t want to do. I wasn’t just some…passive recipient.”

“You _wanted_ to fuck me?”

Brienne looked shocked at the question. “I didn’t _not_ want to fuck you is what I mean. You didn’t force me to.”

Cersei bit her lip, unsure of how to respond, because even though it was a long way from a priority, the idea that Brienne had actively wanted to do what they had done last night excited her far more than it should have.

She was tempted to order Brienne to leave her chambers, return to Jaime and pretend that this had never happened, because she could have done that, and that would have been easier and cleaner and they could have forgotten it ever happened. But she couldn’t. She had to press it further.

“But you were just drunk,” she said, trying to play it off casually. “You were drunk, and you made a mistake, and that’s all.”

“You’re not a mistake to me, Cersei,” Brienne said, and her tone was not at all affectionate, but those words caused Cersei’s entire body to tense up.

_You’re not a mistake to me._

“You don’t have to say that,” Cersei said. “Don’t lie to me.”

“Do I look like I’m in a position to fucking lie to you right now?” Brienne said.

Cersei understood what was happening. As the confusion wore off, Brienne was slowly becoming angrier and angrier at her, regardless of what she had or hadn’t wanted.

“What I did, I did for a reason-”

“Oh, and what reason might that be?” Cersei raised her voice. “You got bored of Jaime, is that it? He was all the way downstairs, and you were drunk enough and desperate enough to think that I looked enough like him to be a replacement? Did you feel like…like _experimenting,_ and you thought I would go along with it, thinking-”

She trailed off as she realised how Brienne was looking at her. Her eyes were wide, and the frustration in them had slowly melted into something like sympathy.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Cersei said.

“I’m not,” Brienne said, averting her eyes, because she clearly was. “Do you ever stop?”

“Stop what?”

“Being paranoid.”

“I can’t _afford_ to stop being paranoid.”

Brienne shook her head. “To the point where you think so little of me? Even after you’ve said – you said you _loved_ me?”

_Of course,_ Cersei’s first thought was, _because you can betray me just as much as anyone else can, regardless of how I feel about you._

But the second she’d thought it, it left a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Tell me your reasoning, then,” she said, doing her best to keep a level head, which she had never been particularly good at. “I’m listening.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “I know I was drunk, we both were. But the things we do or say when we’re drunk, they don’t just come out of nowhere. They have basis in what we want and what we think, right?”

“Where are you going with this?”

“I thought you said you were listening?”

Cersei shut her mouth.

“I think…I think somehow I knew you loved me. The second you said it, at first I didn’t believe you, but it made sense. And I think…I might have done it because I – feel the same.” The last few words came out a little broken, like Brienne hadn’t even realised she was going to say it until she did.

“No.” Cersei shook her head. “No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I do or don’t feel.”

“You love _Jaime,_ Brienne, not me. I can’t – I _won’t_ let myself take you away from him. Do you know how happy you make him? He _worships_ you, Brienne.”

“I never said I didn’t love Jaime.”

_“How can you love both?”_

_“The same way your heart can belong to two men at once. This country is so closed-minded._

A snippet of her conversation with Oberyn floated through her mind, triggered by Brienne’s words.

Cersei shook them away. “You love _him._ It doesn’t matter how you feel about me.” She pointed at the door. “Go back to him, and forget this ever happened. I am not above commanding you.”

“It isn’t that easy, Cersei. I don’t think I can ever go back to the way things were now – and don’t you _dare_ blame yourself for that. I have to be honest with myself, and with him.”

“Curse your fucking honour.”

“Curse _your_ narcissism.”

“I am not-” Cersei began, then bit her tongue, because they both knew that she definitely was narcissistic. Gods, Brienne knew her so well. Too well.

“Kiss me,” Cersei said, not sure where the imperative came from.

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “I’m _sorry?”_

“You heard me.”

Brienne chuckled in disbelief. “Is that an order?”

“It doesn’t have to be. But it can be.”

“I know. You made that _very_ clear last night.”

Cersei pursed her lips, not expecting Brienne to bring that up. “Well?”

Brienne moved closer to her, their lips inches apart, and Cersei placed a hand on her face.

Brienne hesitated.

“You’re having second thoughts,” Cersei said.

“I am not-” Cersei cut off Brienne’s words by closing the gap between them and pressing their lips together. It was a soft kiss, and despite her hesitancy Brienne kissed her back immediately. Cersei’s stomach tightened at the feeling of her mouth on hers, because the drunken, hazy memories from the night before were one thing, but this was here and now, and it took all of her self-restraint not to throw Brienne on the bed and have her again.

Well. She probably couldn’t actually throw her on the bed, given that she was almost a foot taller than her. But it was a nice idea. If they were going to continue with this, Cersei should probably keep up swordfighting, so that one day she could achieve that –

Oh. They were still kissing.

Cersei pulled away.

“Did that clear up your second thoughts?” she said, more playfully than was appropriate.

Brienne nodded slowly. “I regret to inform you that I am definitely attracted to you.”

“Right.”

Cersei had never been the greatest believer in the gods, but if she believed in one thing, it was fate. Fate always had a nasty habit of working against her, and it wouldn’t surprise her if the gods didn’t like her, were the bastards actually up there: she had done plenty to offend them in her time.

But today, the gods or fate or whoever it was were definitely, _definitely_ not smiling on her.

Because the second her hand came away from Brienne’s face, there was a knock on the door, with a metallic clang that either meant someone was trying and failing to tear it down with a hammer or that Jaime was outside.

“Cersei?” Cersei and Brienne sprung apart at the sound of his voice, making desperate, frantic eye contact. “Are you all right?”

He paused for a moment, giving her time to reply. Instead, Cersei mouthed to Brienne “What the fuck do we do?”

“I don’t know!” she replied.

“Cersei, I know you’re awake. You never sleep this late. I just – I’m sorry about last night. I was just trying to keep you safe, but I realise I wasn’t being particularly pleasant.”

“Go into the bathroom-” Cersei mouthed, but Brienne shook her head.

“HONESTY,” she replied, her mouth stretching the word out without making a sound.

“If you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine.” Jaime leant against the door, which was mercifully locked this time. “I’ll just-”

“Fine,” Cersei hissed. “One second!” she called to her brother. “I’m just getting dressed.”

A pause. Brienne’s gaze looked a little less threatening.

“All right. I’ll wait.”

Brienne inched closer to Cersei.

“I have no idea what I’m going to say,” she said softly.

“Neither do I,” Cersei said. “Are you sure you don’t want to climb out of the window?”

“Positive.”

Cersei huffed. “Shall we get this over with, then?”

Brienne stepped back. “Now?”

“Yes, now!”

Cersei marched towards the door, looking at Brienne as if to say _stop me if you want to._ Brienne didn’t.

She carefully unbolted the door, and opened it with a smile.

“Good morning,” she said, uncharacteristically cheery. Jaime definitely picked up on that.

“You look well,” he said. “Are you angry at me?”

Cersei shook her head, even though Jaime had been a bit of a dick to her last night. One conflict at a time. “The only thing I’m angry at is my headache. You should have stopped me sooner.”

“I tried. Can I come in?”

Cersei nodded. She could practically feel the tension coming off Brienne.

“What are you-” Jaime stopped in his tracks. “Brienne. H – hello. You’re-”

Cersei raised her eyebrows at Brienne, clenching her own fists.

“I…” Brienne fumbled. “I came by earlier to check on Cersei, like you did.”

Cersei blinked several times. “Honesty,” she mouthed, and Brienne glared at her.

Had she really just…bailed at the last minute like that?

“Yes,” Cersei said, Brienne’s glare still intently fixed on her, but choosing to ignore it. “Thank you, Brienne, for taking care of me last night. You were _so_ good.”

Jaime must have picked up on the tone of her voice, because he turned his head sharply to look at Cersei, his brow furrowed.

They made eye contact for a few second, identical green eyes boring into each other, but then Jaime looked away.

“Anyway, I was, um, thinking of going down to the sparring yard,” he said, his voice still a little uncertain. “Cersei, would you like to accompany us?”

“Yes,” Cersei said, not really paying attention. She and Brienne were still looking at each other, with no idea what to say or do. “Yes.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Jaime asked. “You seem a little on edge-”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” Brienne snapped, causing Cersei to jump. “Cersei and I had sex last night!”

A silence. None of them dared to look at each other.

Then, Jaime let out a laugh.

“What?” he said incredulously. “No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, we did,” Brienne continued.

“No,” Jaime said. He was still smiling, the ghost of the expression left over from his laugh as if he was so stunned his face was frozen in that position. “You’re joking.”

He said it like a statement, not a question.

“And I should have told you the second you walked in,” Brienne said. “I should have been honest with you from the start.”

Jaime just blinked.

“Sit down, Jaime,” Cersei said, trying to guide him towards the bed. “Don’t just storm out, we need to talk about this.”

“I don’t storm out,” Jaime said. “That’s what you do.”

Another silence.

“Are you angry?” Brienne said. “Are you – what are you feeling right now?”

“So this isn’t a joke,” Jaime said, as if only just realising it. “You – you two actually-”

“Do I look like I would joke about this?” Brienne said. “Yes. We did.”

Jaime took a step back, eyeing Cersei accusatorily. Cersei almost looked away, not wanting to meet the hatred in his eyes, but she didn’t.

“I mean what I said,” Cersei said. “We need to _talk_ about this.”

He was trembling.

“So,” he said, clearly trying to maintain some sense of calm even though the gravity of the situation was finally dawning on him. “How long has this been going on for?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” His voice began to get louder. “How long have you been together, behind my back? How long have you been lying to me?”

“It was-”

“Were you pretending to be surprised when Cersei told us she liked women? Was it all an act? Have you – you don’t love me, do you? You just-”

“Jaime!” Brienne thundered, and he shut up. “It was only last night.”

“Really?”

“Yes!” she and Cersei both said.

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said hesitantly.

_You didn’t seem sorry earlier,_ Cersei thought.

“I’m sorry that I lied to you,” she continued, “and I’m sorry I betrayed your trust. But I’m not sorry that I did it.”

“ _Brienne,”_ Cersei said warningly.

“Tell Jaime what you told me,” Brienne said.

Cersei took a step back. “I – I don’t-”

“Tell him.”

Cersei turned towards Jaime, seeing the anger in his eyes but doing her best to look past it. “I love Brienne,” she said. “I have for a long time, maybe longer than I’ll ever know. But I didn’t say anything, didn’t do anything, because you love her. And she _loves you,_ Jaime. More than _you’ll_ ever know. That’s why I did my best to stay away from her, because she makes you happy, and you make her happy.” She swallowed as she felt a lump begin to rise in her throat. “But last night, we – I don’t know. I don’t even remember how it began or what happened, and I don’t think I can live with myself if this splits you up, because you two are-”

“When did she tell you this?” His gaze settled on Brienne.

“Seconds before you knocked.”

Jaime’s eyes widened, and he looked back to Cersei. “Brienne?”

Cersei nodded. “Brienne.”

He blinked a few times, processing that information. He was still very tense, that much was clear, but he was willing to talk the issue through, and that was all that mattered.

“And you didn’t say anything because…you wanted to protect our relationship?”

“More than anything,” Cersei said. “I thought I could just let the feelings go away and not have to think about them. Clearly, that didn’t work.”

“Right,” Jaime nodded. He turned towards Brienne.

She didn’t even need to be prompted to speak. “I love you more than anything,” she said, and Cersei saw Jaime’s eyes soften. “Really, I do. You…you complete me, in ways that I can’t even understand. But I’m beginning to think that my heart can belong, in full, to more than one person.”

Cersei frowned. “What-”

“You’re not the only one who Oberyn talked to.”

“Oh.” That, she hadn’t known about.

“Cersei, I already told you, you are not by any stretch of the imagination a mistake to me. I might have only realised this a few minutes ago, but I do love you.”

“You don’t have to-”

“I’m not. And I do. I love…I love both of you. And what we did last night wasn’t a mistake, because it made me – Jaime, are you angry at me?”

It took him a few seconds to speak again, which was understandable. Cersei half expected him to turn away and walk out, but he seemed strangely placid. He opened his mouth and closed it again a few times, as if trying to think of the right thing to say.

“Do you remember what I said to you when we were on the Kingsroad?”

“That I was uglier in the daylight?”

“That we _don’t get to choose who we love_.”

“Oh. Yes, I do remember that.”

“I meant it about someone different, but I suppose the sentiment is the same.” He looked much more resigned now, and Cersei had to admit, Brienne had done an excellent job of explaining it, far better than she could have done.

“So you’re not angry?” Cersei asked.

Jaime furrowed his brow again. “I’m not sure what I am. But Brienne – you’re sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything in my life,” Brienne said, which made Cersei’s stomach tighten a little. Brienne could love _both_ of them. Not could, did. And she was saying it out loud.

Cersei prayed she wasn’t dreaming.

“Like you said,” Jaime said, “I’m not happy that you lied to me just now. But I can’t stop you from loving who you love. And we all know we don’t get to choose who that is.” He glanced at Cersei, then back at Brienne. “So, no, I’m not angry.”

Cersei exhaled, with a laugh. “I honestly thought you would kill me.”

“Me too, at one point. But I’m glad we could talk this through without _someone_ storming off.”

Cersei rolled her eyes. “It’s always nice to be reminded of that.”

“You’re welcome.”

Brienne laughed, and her cheeks flushed. “This is all a bit much, Jaime, and it all happened so fast. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I…I understand how difficult and confusing attraction can be.”

Cersei wrung her hands, realising how tense she’d been for the past five minutes or so. “So where do we go from here?”

Brienne looked at the floor. “I hadn’t even thought about that.”

Jaime’s mouth opened a little, but then he closed it.

“No, go on,” Cersei said, trying to sound genuine.

He took a deep breath. “This is going to sound very, very stupid. But, going back to Oberyn Martell…he and Ellaria were sort of…I don’t know. Their relationship wasn’t exclusive, I suppose.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. Was he going where she thought he was going with this? He couldn’t possibly.

“So, um, Brienne, if you genuinely mean everything you said, which I have no doubt you do, then maybe we could – I mean, you could – no, _we_ could…” He indicated between Cersei and Brienne with his hand.

“What are you trying to say?” Brienne said cautiously.

“I told you it would sound stupid.”

“No, it doesn’t. Because I think I understand.”

“Me too,” Cersei said. “You’re serious?”

Jaime let his hand fall. “Only if you are.”

Brienne stepped closer to him. No. Closer to _both of them._

“So I would be…with both of you?” She sounded like she’d never been more relieved in her life.

“We could try it,” Jaime said. “If you wanted to. And-”

Brienne practically attacked him with a kiss. He jumped as their lips made contact, but melted into it immediately.

Brienne broke away and looked at him, eyes glistening. “Thank you. For understanding.”

Cersei didn’t know what to do or say. “Yes, thank you,” she said stiffly. “For not killing either of us.”

Brienne suddenly looked alarmed. “Oh, gods,” she said, stepping back from Jaime. “I didn’t even think – I’m sorry. I don’t want things to be awkward between you two, I mean, you were together for so long, I don’t want to start anything again-”

Cersei and Jaime made eye contact, and both, immediately, burst out laughing.

“Trust me,” Cersei said. “That’s not going to happen.” She stepped closer to the two of them. “Besides.” She took Brienne’s hands in hers. “You might have two hands, but Jaime only has one.”

Brienne blinked. “That’s…actually a really good way of thinking about it.”

“And it’s not like things can be awkward between us,” Jaime interjected. “We’re already far too comfortable with each other.”

“You don’t say,” Brienne said. “You don’t seem to have any boundaries.”

“Absolutely none,” Cersei said, wrapping an arm around her twin’s shoulders. “Except one.”

“Except one.”

Brienne looked sceptically at the two of them. “We really should sit down and talk about this.”

“Maybe we should,” Jaime said. “I’m not sure we can just do this without discussing the details.”

“You’re right,” Cersei said, bringing her arm down. “But for now…”

She glided closer to Brienne, and pressed a kiss to her lips, hopefully not catching her off guard like she had with Jaime. Brienne leaned into it, wrapping her arms behind Cersei’s neck, and for the first time, Cersei could properly feel what it was like to kiss her and have her without fear or self-hatred.

It was like nothing she had ever felt before.

She grazed her teeth against Brienne’s bottom lip, which elicited a soft moan from her and made her tilt her head back, allowing Cersei to kiss her more intensely, and with more desperation. Again, she had half a mind to get Brienne back on her bed and finish the job.

But instead, she pulled away slowly, and turned towards Jaime to see his reaction.

He looked absolutely stunned. More so than when he’d seen Brienne in her dress for the first time – although it probably didn’t help that she was still wearing it.

“How’s that?” Cersei asked.

Jaime nodded. “I – yes. That was fine. More than fine, actually.”

Cersei’s eyes flitted down to his crotch, where – “Oh. Sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” Jaime said hazily.

Brienne cleared her throat, hands still around Cersei. “So. Discussing the details?”

“Right!” Jaime said. “Right.”

“Unless you’re too distracted,” Cersei said teasingly.

Jaime whacked her playfully on the arm.

“Hey!” she said. “I know what you can be like. Especially around her.” She tilted her head towards Brienne. “She has two distractions, and she’s keeping herself together. Behave.”

Brienne scoffed. “If I were a man, I would not have subtlety on my side.”

“Men never do.” Cersei looked over towards her table, right by her balcony. “Let’s actually sit down this time. Which has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I have a ridiculous headache right now.”

“I tried to stop you,” Jaime said, hands up in mock surrender.

“You did,” Cersei said, taking Brienne’s hand in hers. “And look how that turned out.”

Jaime’s face lit up. “Look how it turned out indeed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I have been waiting to write this for SO long. I wrote most of this in one sitting because I just couldn’t stop. Gah, I love them so much. Thanks for reading! Next up, the much-needed negotiations.


	13. On the Defensive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei, Brienne and Jaime sit down to discuss the technicalities of their new relationship, however they are diverted from an unexpected gift from an enemy they'd almost forgotten about. Sansa and Margaery discover a new threat in the capital that Tommen seems completely unaware of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternative Title: The Idiots Learn How to Communicate 2: Electric Boogaloo  
> Second Alternative Title: Wow, Turns Out Cersei Does Know How to Share  
> Sorry, I tried to upload this last night (or afternoon depending on your time zone) but my laptop was being weird so I’m trying again today.

**Cersei**

Jaime pointedly moved the mostly-empty jug of wine off Cersei’s table.

“You really think I would drink this early in the day?”

Jaime shrugged. “It’s only precautionary.”

Cersei scoffed.

Brienne took a seat at the table, pulling the chair out cautiously as if testing out her surroundings. She was clearly still a little unsure of her place in this situation.

“So,” she said. “I just want to clarify – you’re both completely all right with this?”

“Yes,” Jaime and Cersei said in unison, both sounding almost unnervingly confident.

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “That was very…enthusiastic.”

Cersei glided over to the table to take a seat beside Brienne. “You can understand why, can’t you?”

“I’m not sure I can, but I appreciate the sentiment.”

Jaime sat down next to her as well, so that Brienne was seated between them. They hadn’t planned that configuration, but it was convenient that it worked out that way.

“So,” Cersei said. “What is it that you wanted to discuss?”

“I wasn’t – I mean, none of us have ever done anything like this before, right? I feel like we need to figure out how this is going to work.”

“How do _you_ want it to work?” Jaime asked.

Brienne looked somewhat taken aback at the question. “Me?”

“You’re the one in the middle,” Cersei noted, “so to speak. What do you want, Brienne?”

The whole situation still felt so surreal. Of the hundreds of outcomes that could have resulted from Cersei’s previously unfortunate feelings for Brienne, this was not the one she had anticipated. Nor was it the one she had been sure she wanted, but faced with the opportunity, she couldn’t ever imagine having second thoughts.

Brienne looked like she knew what she wanted to say, but didn’t quite know how to say it. “I – well, obviously, I’d like to _be_ with both of you. Gods, that sounds strange out loud. But I don’t…I don’t want it to just be, oh, I’m with Jaime, and now I’m with Cersei, and those exist separately. I want it to be…” She made a vague gesture with her hands. “More together than that. I don’t know.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “You want both of us at the same time?”

“Yes. Well. Something like that. I love…I love spending time with both of you, together.”

“The first and last time anyone has ever said that,” Jaime quipped.

Cersei rolled her eyes. “Don’t interrupt her.”

“Well, now you’re both interrupting me.”

“Sorry. Go on.”

“And I…yes, I want both of you at the same time. Obviously, if you don’t want that, then that’s fine, but I’d like us to be more…unified. That’s the word.”

Jaime nodded. “I’d like that.”

Brienne smiled. “We’re actually doing this, aren’t we?”

“I hope so,” Cersei said. “Otherwise I’ll be very disappointed.”

“So,” Jaime said, leaning forwards. “We would be a…a three-person couple, is that it?”

“Sort of. But I think the thing I really wanted to discuss was the matter of you two.” Brienne indicated between them. “I know you only recently stopped, you know, being together, and I know you say you’re comfortable with this arrangement, but we might need to set some boundaries.”

Cersei wasn’t sure what she meant. “What kind of boundaries?”

“I think I see what you mean,” Jaime said, not sounding entirely sure. “But I just want you to know, Cersei and I are not going to abandon you in favour of each other.” He looked at Cersei. “At least, I wouldn’t. I can’t speak for _her.”_

Cersei scoffed. “Believe me, you can. And I’m not even sure Brienne was worried about that.”

“I wasn’t, but it’s nice to have the affirmation. And if there’s anything you’re not comfortable with, you know, doing…”

Cersei felt like an idiot. “Were you talking about sex this whole time?”

“Not strictly. But I think that’s important. If you’re not comfortable with being…intimate with me at the same time…” Her cheeks flushed. “I can’t believe I’m even talking about this. I’m sorry. No. This is too much.”

“Go on,” Jaime said, taking Brienne’s hand in his. “Like you said, it’s important to discuss what we want and what we don’t want.”

“Are you comfortable with that?” Cersei said, going to clutch Brienne’s other hand. When she touched it, she realised it was hot, and that her pulse was absolutely racing. “Oh.”

Cersei had assumed that the issue lay with Brienne being uncomfortable with the implications of both of them being with her at once. But seeing how flustered she was, how her pupils were wide and a blush was creeping up her cheeks, Cersei realised that wasn’t the issue. That this might be exactly what Brienne wanted.

Cersei inched closer to Brienne’s ear, keeping her hand in hers. “Would you like that?” she asked teasingly, allowing her voice to drop to a seductive whisper.

Brienne gasped, and her fingers kneaded Cersei’s hand. “Yes.”

Cersei chuckled.

“Oh,” Jaime said. “Well, you should have said that sooner.”

“I think we all should have said something sooner,” Brienne said, her voice a little breathy, each of her hands still firmly in Cersei and Jaime’s grasp. “But, yes, I would definitely like that. But if you’re not-”

Cersei so, so desperately wanted to keep up the seductive act and watch Brienne tremble and come undone in front of her, but she did understand that Brienne was being serious.

Jaime looked over Brienne, making eye contact with Cersei. “There will be some things that we won’t necessarily be able to do. But I trust you – I trust both of you enough to know where to draw the line.”

Cersei scoffed. “You trust me to know when to stop?”

“With anything else, no. With this, yes.”

“Fair enough.” Cersei suddenly pulled her hand away from Brienne’s. “Fuck. I’d completely forgotten that you were a woman.”

“What?” Brienne said indignantly, and Cersei bit the inside of her cheek.

“No, no, no! Not like that. What I meant was that people can’t know we’re together.”

“Oh, of course.” Brienne suddenly looked a lot more concerned. “What are the consequences for that?”

“Well, Loras Tyrell isn’t dead yet,” Cersei remarked. _Neither is his sister._ “I hardly think we’ll be executed. But a lot of people won’t like it, and they could use it against me – _us_. Against us.” 

“Well,” Brienne said, “they already know about my relationship with Jaime. We can just say that-”

“People know about our relationship?”

“Everyone knows about you two,” Cersei said. “Did you really think-”

“I just assumed, we hadn’t explicitly told anyone-”

“Yes, but every time you make eye contact, everyone in King’s Landing can see you eye-fucking.”

“We do not eye-fuck,” Jaime said, but Brienne rolled her eyes.

“Yes, you do,” Cersei said, at the same time as Brienne said, “Of course we do. At least, you do.”

Jaime nodded resignedly. “I didn’t realise that.”

“Don’t mind him,” Cersei said. “He’s never been any good at subtlety.”

“I can be subtle!”

Brienne let out a laugh: not a chuckle or a giggle, a real, genuine laugh. It wasn’t the most pleasant of sounds, but it made Cersei smile anyway.

“The point _was,”_ Cersei said, mock-irritably, “that we can’t let anyone find out about this, so we’ll have to be careful.”

“Well, people already know we’re friends,” Brienne said. “So this shouldn’t change too much.”

Cersei opened her mouth to make some comment about how people had probably already begun to spread malicious rumours about the two of them, as they would with anyone she was caught within a five-foot radius of, but she quickly closed it, remembering Brienne’s earlier comments about her paranoia.

She was doing something for Brienne, and for the first time it didn’t feel shameful.

Instead, she nodded. “Good. I just don’t want to put any of us in danger.”

“We won’t be in danger,” Jaime said, perhaps a little too confidently. “Besides, I’m still not over the fact that people know about us. How many people?”

“Probably everyone from here to the Twins,” Brienne said.

“The Twins? I bet they’re talking about you all the way up at the Wall,”

“We can’t be that interesting,” Jaime said.

Cersei tilted her head. “Not to some.”

“But to you?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Maybe,”_ Brienne scoffed. “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Cersei smiled. “Can you imagine three weeks ago if we’d been told this was going to happen?”

“I wouldn’t have believed any of it,” Brienne said. “But, come to think of it, I couldn’t imagine this going any other way.”

Jaime grinned, and pressed a kiss to Brienne’s cheek. “Well, thank you for letting it happen.”

Cersei put an arm around Brienne’s shoulders. “Thank you, Brienne. And thank you, Jaime, for not murdering both of us the second you walked in.”

Jaime laughed softly. “You’re welcome.”

“So,” Brienne said. “Is there anything else we need to discuss?”

“Not that I can think of,” Cersei said, comfortably nestling her head in the gap between Brienne’s face and shoulder. “Jaime?”

Jaime’s left hand snaked behind Brienne’s back and took Cersei’s, their fingers entwined against the back of her neck. Brienne leaned back into them. “I think we’ve discussed things thoroughly enough.”

There was a silence, and the three of them sat together, warmed by each other’s touches and at peace with their situation, for the first time in what felt to Cersei like ages. For so long, she had pined after Brienne, expecting nothing to come of it, and having those feelings reciprocated felt like nothing else.

“I think,” Brienne said, after what could have been hours or seconds, “that we should test those boundaries. If we’ve got nothing better to do.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Boundaries?”

“Well, I did suggest a trip to the sparring yard,” Jaime said, all but purring into Brienne’s ear, “but I like your idea better, Brienne. What do you think?”

“I think that sounds like an excellent idea,” Cersei said, unclasping her hand from Jaime’s and pressing it into the back of Brienne’s hair. She leaned in towards her slowly, and pressed a kiss to her neck. Brienne tensed up at that, gasping, and Cersei kept kissing there, moving from her jawline down to her shoulder.

She might not have been able to remember what happened last night, but she would have these memories. And, she thought with a flutter, as her teeth grazed Brienne’s soft, sun-kissed skin, she would get to do it again and again, if all went well.

Above her, Jaime kissed Brienne on the lips, and she wrapped one arm around him, pulling him closer into her.

She hesitated for a moment. “You’re both sure you want this?”

“Without question,” Jaime said, a distinctive hitch in his breath, and he immediately went back to kissing her.

Cersei pulled her lips away from Brienne and hitched her long, blue skirts up slowly, rolling them delicately above her knees. In any other situation, she might have been tempted to rip Brienne’s clothes off her, but she was not about to tear this dress.

She snaked her hand under the fabric, caressing her over her smallclothes. Brienne gasped into Jaime’s mouth and bucked her hips forwards.

“You want this?” Cersei said, her voice heavy and filled with desire.

“Yes,” Brienne said, Jaime now laving kisses down the other side of her neck the same way Cersei had been. “More than anything.”

Cersei began to touch her, although lightly, and still over her smallclothes. Brienne whimpered.

“What’s that?” Cersei asked.

“More,” Brienne said desperately. “More, please, Cersei, I need…”

Cersei chuckled darkly. “Well, then. Who am I to deprive you of what you want?”

She pressed her fingers under Brienne’s smallclothes, finally touching the soft wetness there. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jaime fumbling to unlace his breeches. Brienne’s hand instinctively went to help him with it, although her movements were somewhat stiff due to Cersei touching her.

Cersei moved her hand further down, towards Brienne’s cunt. The noises she made were so beautiful, a lilting melody of desire and desperation. Cersei couldn’t wait to make her sing.

A knock at the door.

Cersei pulled her hand away with a jolt, and rolled Brienne’s skirt down with her other hand, smoothing it over her knees. “Shit. Shit.”

“Who the fuck could that be?” Jaime had only just managed to get his cock out of his breeches, and now he was fumbling to get it back in. Again.

Brienne’s eyes darted towards the door. “No one would…”

Cersei stood up quickly. “You two. In the bathroom. Now.”

Jaime nodded and scurried over to the door, ushering Brienne in and closing the door behind them gently. Cersei smoothed her hair down and walked over to the door, trying to hide the trembling and disorientation that she had acquired from the turbulent events of that morning.

“Your Grace,” one of her handmaiden said. Gods, she hadn’t seen her in ages. She hardly ever wanted them to help her anymore, wanting to be left to her own devices.

Cersei’s eyes flickered down to her hands, where she was holding what looked like an ornamental box of some kind. The make was foreign – from Braavos, perhaps, or Dorne?

“What is the meaning of this?” she asked.

The girl took a step back. “I – I was told to give this to you.”

“Told by who?” Cersei eyed the box with suspicion and contempt.

“I – I don’t know his name. He gave this to me, and told me it was a gift for the Queen Mother.”

_Queen Mother._ Not the Queen, anymore. That stung. “Open it,” she commanded.

The girl’s eyes widened pathetically. “I-”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned, hmm? Or if a knife is going to spring out and stab me through the heart?” She tilted her head, and the girl all but whimpered.

“Right, Your Grace. I’ll…” Cersei stepped back, and the girl pulled the lid off. It sprung open with a thud, almost hitting the girl in the face, causing her to jump.

Cold fury flowed throughout Cersei as she saw what was inside. She snatched it from the handmaiden, hands trembling, almost dropping it.

“You are dismissed,” she said, voice weak, still looking at the contents of the box in disbelief.

“Your G-”

Cersei could have flown off the handle in that moment, snapped at the girl and commanded her to get out of her sight. But she didn’t have to. A single look was more than enough, her eyes flickering up to meet the girl’s, burning green wildfire.

The girl immediately scurried away.

Cersei bolted the door, almost dropping the box in the process. She strode over to the table and set the box down, trying not to cry or shout or knock it to the floor and crush it to pieces. She put one hand on the back of a chair to try and steady herself.

The bathroom door opened, a reckless laugh coming from within.

“I told you they were gone. Cersei, come and-”

Jaime’s voice faltered as his gaze fell on the table. Cersei couldn’t bring herself to look at him, to look away from the so-called gift she’d been given.

“Cersei?” Brienne said, her voice tinged with concern. “What is that?”

The two of them walked over to the table. She could feel them both treading lightly around her, not sure what had put her in this state but understanding that she was in a very delicate position.

She took the golden pendant in her hand.

“You see this?” she said, willing herself not to cry. “This necklace. There are only two like it in the world. The one I wear, and the one I gave to my daughter.” She looked up at Jaime. “Our daughter.”

Brienne blinked. “I thought Myrcella was in Dorne.”

“She is. Do you understand what this means?”

Jaime furrowed his brow. “Is it a threat?”

“Of course it’s a threat,” Cersei said, slamming the necklace down on the table. “She’s alone, in Dorne, surrounded by people who hate our family. What else could it be?” She took the chain in her hand and began fiddling with it. “Two minutes ago, I was happy. I haven’t been happy in such a long time, and I should have known it was too good to last-”

“Cersei.” Brienne’s tone was warning as she sat down next to her and took the necklace out of her hands.

“If they touch her, I swear, I will grind House Martell into ash and dust before they lay a finger on her, I’ll-”

“Shh, shh, shh,” Brienne said, taking Cersei’s hand in hers. “I know. I know you will. But you need to keep a level head.”

“Do you really think they would do anything to harm her?” Jaime asked.

“Of course they would,” Cersei said bitterly. “They blame us for Oberyn and Elia’s death. They’ll blame us for anything they can think of, and they’ll take it out on – on-” She choked back a sob, unwept tears burning like flame in her eyes. She looked back to Jaime. “She’s so good. She’s never done anything wrong, and they-”

“I know.” Jaime sat down next to her. “If this is really a threat – we can’t let them do anything to her.”

“I understand that much.”

“Look at me.” Cersei dragged her eyes away from the carved snake in the box and its unseeing, reptilian eyes. “I won’t let anything happen to her.”

Cersei let out a hopeless chuckle. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Jaime looked like he was in as much turmoil as her over this, but his eyes had a determination in them, a decisiveness. “I’ll go to Dorne and retrieve her myself.”

“Really?”

“She’s my daughter. And all my life, all her life, I’ve never been able to be her father, to care for her like that. I have to…I have to do this for her.”

Cersei’s anger didn’t subside, but Jaime’s words dulled it a little, made it easier to handle.

Brienne didn’t seem so convinced, however. “If you go to Dorne with an army, that will be an act of war. You’ll only increase hostility.”

“So I won’t go with an army,” Jaime said. “I don’t need an army. I just need one person.”

“And who might that be?” Brienne asked. Jaime raised his eyebrows. “Oh. _Oh.”_

“You don’t have to come,” Jaime said. “I can go alone. But-”

Brienne’s eyes snapped up to meet Jaime’s, full of conviction. “I will go with you. I promise, we will do everything we can to get your daughter back and more.”

Cersei was lost for a moment.

“Cersei?” Jaime said cautiously. “Does that-”

“I’m coming too,” Cersei said, not sure where the words had come from.

She felt Brienne and Jaime give each other uncertain looks.

“Cersei, I don’t think you understand-”

“I’m coming too.” It wasn’t a question. “She’s my daughter as much as she is yours. They sent this to _me._ ”

“Maybe that’s what they want you to do. Maybe they’re trying to lure you down there,” Brienne said.

“And? If they have something to say to me, some idle threat to make, they can say it to my face.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “Or they could kill you.”

“I can fight. You’ve taught me how to. I can defend myself just as well as Jaime can.”

“That’s not saying much,” Jaime said.

“And? You were more than eager to go. The more of us we have, the better chance we stand at getting Myrcella back.” She looked between the two of them as if daring them to stop her. “You can’t make me stay here when my daughter’s life is at risk.”

“We won’t make you,” Brienne said. “You understand the risk involved.”

“I _understand_ everything. I will not beg you, but-”

“You can come,” Jaime said, somewhat reluctantly. “As long as you promise not to do anything rash.”

Who was Jaime, she thought, to talk about doing something rash?

But she kept the remark down. She could already feel the harshness building in her voice with her anger and fear, and she didn’t want to alienate Jaime or Brienne just as she was finally at emotional peace with them.

“I promise,” she said, not sure if she sounded genuine or not. “I wouldn’t endanger Myrcella like that.”

Jaime nodded sagely. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“You do realise,” Brienne said, “that you’ll be leaving King’s Landing. Even if you maintain knowledge of what’s going on through communication, it’ll be slow. You’ll be out of reach.”

“I have Qyburn,” she said, a little too confidently. “I trust him to enact on my behalf if anything should go wrong.”

“You trust Tommen to rule without your influence?”

Cersei smirked a little. “I’ve done my part to minimise the influence of…others.” Her thoughts flickered to Margaery Tyrell. “He has his council, and I have people who will take care of the situation while I’m away.”

“You sound very confident,” Jaime noted.

“I am confident,” Cersei said. “When do we leave?”

“Well, tomorrow, ideally,” Brienne said.

“Tomorrow?”

“Is that enough time to get your affairs in order?” Brienne still seemed a little hesitant at letting Cersei come with her, but she had conceded. “If we wait any longer, the Dornish might think we’re preparing an army. They already know we’ll be coming, we can’t let them think we intend to start a war.”

Cersei scoffed. “They’re the ones looking to start a war. But tomorrow should be fine.”

“I don’t mean to sound rude,” Jaime said, his tone warning. “But you’re sure about this, Cersei? I don’t want you to feel-”

“I have made my mind up,” Cersei said, and that was that. She looked back at the box. “You know, I think this has been the strangest morning of my life.”

Brienne laughed. “Mine too. I would offer to continue our…testing of boundaries, but if we’re to leave tomorrow I’ve got some things to sort out.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Cersei said. “Nothing kills the mood like a death threat against your daughter.”

**Margaery**

When Margaery awoke the morning after her wedding, the other side of the bed was cold and empty.

Her hand sprung to the mattress as her eyes snapped open, panicking suddenly that he had been taken in his sleep or had snuck out the window, but then she hazily recalled waking up earlier to him slipping out. She remembered him mumbling about some meeting or other with a religious leader. It sounded messy and complicated, but he had still been all sunshine and smiles on his way out.

Margaery sighed. She almost pitied the boy, as he was definitely in way over his head regardless of the crown sitting on it. He had been given so much responsibility at such a young age, and she wasn’t sure he knew what to do with it.

His cat hopped up onto the bed. Margaery gasped in delight as it nuzzled up to her, purring lazily as the sun streamed through the window onto its fur.

“Hello, Ser Pounce,” she said, stroking his head. “Aren’t you just lovely.”

She couldn’t help but giggle as he settled on top of her, over the sheets. He was so at peace, and all he wanted was a pat on the head and a nice place to sit.

She would rather be a cat, she decided, than a person in the Red Keep. Cats didn’t have to worry about enemies and politics and religious fanatics. All they worried about was when they were going to get their next saucer of milk.

He was _so_ adorable, with the loveliest orange fur… _just like Sansa’s hair, so pretty in the sunlight…_

She pulled her hand away from his head, biting the inside of her cheeks at the thought. Trust her to be reminded of Sansa by a _cat._

She sighed, and lifted Ser Pounce off the bed. “Not now,” she said aloud. She quickly got up and got dressed, trying to busy herself and distract from her thoughts.

A few minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Who is it?” Margaery asked.

A pause, like someone was deciding whether to stay or leave.

“Sansa,” the voice said, and Margaery all but huffed in irritation, not at her, but at the situation they had found themselves in. Still, she opened the door.

“Are you all right?” she asked. What was she doing here? She looked frightened, but not with the sheepish insecurity she had had the day before approaching Margaery about her feelings. There was an urgency behind her.

“Can I come in?” she asked.

Margaery nodded. “Tommen’s gone to speak to some religious people. I’m not sure-”

Sansa’s eyes widened. “The Faith Militant?”

“I didn’t catch the name, but…I don’t know, possibly. Who are they?”

Sansa sighed. “They’re fanatics. You know Lancel Lannister? He’s converted to them, and he tried to talk me into it at dinner a few nights ago. Then they approached me again when I was down by the Sept.”

“You think they’re dangerous?”

“I think they’re more powerful than anyone’s giving them credit for. I haven’t heard one person talk about them at court yet, but if they’ve got the King’s attention…I think people are underestimating the kind of change they could cause.”

She sounded so erudite, talking about politics like that. Maybe it was just Littlefinger’s influence, but she had always been smarter than people gave her credit for. Perhaps she understood the dangers of underestimating people because of that.

“I’ll mention that to Tommen,” Margaery said, “if I ever see him, that is. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?”

Sansa lowered her voice, even though they were alone in Margaery’s room. “I think Cersei knows about us.”

“How could she possibly-”

“You remember her last night.”

“She was drunk.”

Sansa shook her head. “She was trying to get under my skin. I mean, that’s nothing new. But the way she was talking about us being friends, I just – I don’t know. Maybe I’m jumping to conclusions, but it’s better to jump to them than ignore them completely. And I still can’t forget that she just let me live. There has to be a reason behind that.”

“You’re a useful political bargaining chip.”

“With who? My whole family is dead.”

“You don’t know that. Arya could-”

“I’m not interested in false hope. We don’t have Winterfell anymore. They’re not trying to marry me to anyone. So what does she want with me?”

“I don’t know. But please, Sansa, don’t torture yourself trying to work it out.”

Sansa cast her eyes down. “If Cersei possibly knows about us, we’re done. You can forget about being Queen, and I can forget about having my head.”

Margaery took a step back. “Are you telling me that you don’t want to – that you-”

“I’m telling you that I love you,” Sansa said, “because I don’t know when I’ll get to again.”

She softened. “Oh.”

“And if what you’re saying is true, about the Faith, then Cersei might just be the least of our problems.”

“Imagine that.”

“I’m serious.”

Margaery nodded. “The second I see Tommen, I’ll tell him what you told me.”

“Please. I have no idea what they’d do to us – oh, shit, Loras, they might find out about him, too – well, what they’d do to any of us if they found out and if they had enough power to do it.”

Margaery kissed Sansa tenderly, and she could feel how tense she was under her touch. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Sansa smiled mournfully, savouring something she knew couldn’t last. “Me neither.”

“You’re so smart. You know that?”

“I learned from the best.”

“Littlefinger?”

“Among others.”

“Me?”

Sansa leaned up to kiss Margaery again, this time more passionately, almost hungrily. “I did say the _best.”_

Margaery grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And, in case you’re wondering, Cersei is making a huge lapse in political judgement, because this is Cersei we’re talking about. So is Margaery, honestly, but we’ll get to that later.


	14. Setting Sail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei, Jaime, and Brienne set off to Dorne in order to get Myrcella back, and finally get to finish what they started. The author is not immune to the "and there was only one bed" trope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eat your heart out, Jonerys, because we (with a whopping 18 works in the J/B/C tag) now have boatsex of our own. This chapter is basically just smut, which is weird because when I set out to write this fic, I didn’t expect to be writing much. And this will definitely NOT be the last of it. But here we are!

**Cersei**

Cersei edged quietly along the waterfront, hoping that the dark would be enough to shield her from watchful eyes. The fact that they were leaving for Dorne wasn’t exactly a secret at court, but she wanted to avoid attention, and so they had agreed to meet at the shore at night, where a merchant ship would come to pick them up, with a hefty bag of gold to shut them up.

She could hardly see them in the dark, with no torches to light their way, but the shape of two tall figures carrying swords immediately brought her relief.

Jaime immediately picked up on her change of clothing as she approached them, with no hefty skirt weighing her down and a sword strapped to her side. “I see the word practicality has entered your vocabulary.”

She rolled her eyes. “I don’t want people to recognise me when we get to Dorne. They might have never seen me in the flesh before, but they’ll figure it out pretty quickly if I’m dressed like a queen. Where’s the ship?”

“They said midnight,” Brienne said. “They should be here any minute.”

On cue, the ship came around the rock and landed on the shore, the three of them eyeing it cautiously. It wasn’t as big as Cersei had imagined, but she supposed being inconspicuous was worth the sacrifice of being uncomfortable and cramped for the duration of the journey.

“The voyage could take...four days to a week, depending on conditions,” Jaime said, “and they’ll drop us off a few miles from Sunspear. We’ll have to make the rest of the journey by ourselves.”

“This is it, then,” Brienne muttered into her ear. “If you’re having second thoughts, this is your last chance to run.”

Cersei scoffed. “After I went to all the trouble of procuring a man’s shirt and breeches that would fit me?” She bit her lip, knowing Brienne could probably tell she was using her blasé, unbothered attitude to cover up her fear. “Seriously. I’ve come this far. I’m not backing down now, especially when those Dornish bitches have my daughter.”

They were ushered into the hold by a burly, unpleasant merchant, who Cersei got the sense would be even more unpleasant if they weren’t offering him a large amount of money to let them stowaway.

“You sleep here,” he said, lighting a candle at the side of the room. “You can come up onto the deck, but don’t touch the cargo.”

“Thank you,” Brienne said. “For letting us stay here.”

The merchant clearly wasn’t accustomed to her manners, and just nodded his head and slammed the door on his way out.

Cersei exhaled. “It smells terrible down here.”

“It’s the best we’ve got,” Brienne said, setting her bag down. “I-”

She froze mid-sentence as she saw Cersei illuminated in the soft candlelight. “You’re-”

Cersei huffed, knowing she looked absolutely ridiculous. “Terrible, isn’t it? I had to have my seamstresses take in the shirt for me, and these boots are just old ones I used for riding, but-”

“You look incredible,” Brienne said. “Really, incredible.”

“Oh.” Cersei chuckled. “That’s not what I expected you to say.” She looked down at her outfit.

“Is this how you felt when you saw me in that dress?” Brienne turned to Jaime, eyes full of disbelief.

“Well, given the fact that you can still speak, I think my situation might have been a little worse than yours,” he said. “But I imagine it’s something similar.”

“I can’t believe I get to be with a woman like you,” Brienne said. Cersei smiled, and was about to say something to the same effect, but then Brienne turned around, and said “Oh, _fuck,”_ so loudly that Jaime stumbled backwards.

“What is it?”

“I hadn’t even thought about sleeping arrangements,” she said.

Cersei peered over to look at what Brienne was looking at. It seemed that for the next two or three nights, they would be sleeping in one bed, which was arguably big enough for two people at most, and certainly not designed with two people over six foot and one extra in mind.

“Well, we were hardly expecting the royal welcome,” Jaime said, “but…oh, well, at least it’s a bed and not a sack of straw.”

“It could be worse,” Cersei said. “You could be coming with Bronn.”

Jaime scoffed. “If I was coming with Bronn, I would sleep on the floor.”

“Then maybe it’s a good thing we’re…you know,” Brienne said. “Together.”

Cersei raised an eyebrow. “You’re very sappy tonight. Is there a reason for that?”

Brienne’s eyes flickered between Cersei and Jaime. “I’ve hardly seen either of you since yesterday morning. I’ve had a lot of time to _be_ sappy.”

Jaime’s eyes flickered down towards the bed, and then back up at Brienne. “Is it maybe because you want something?” His left hand began to trace up her arm. “Something we didn’t get to finish the other day?”

Brienne tilted her head playfully. “That’s awfully presumptuous of you, Jaime. Are you sure it’s not you who wants it?”

“Maybe,” he said. “Cersei, what do you think?”

Cersei hadn’t even considered it yet, but then the memories of the day before came flooding back to her, and she was suddenly overcome with a desperate need to finish what they’d started.

“I think,” she said, putting a hand on the back of Brienne’s neck, “that if we’ve only got one bed, we should put it to good use. Are we all in agreement?”

Brienne smiled lasciviously. “I am.”

“Mm, good,” Cersei said, and her hands came to the hook at the front of Brienne’s tunic. “No armour.”

“Armour implies we’re going to start a fight. This isn’t a fight.”

“Are you sure?” Cersei asked, carefully unhooking it. “Or is it just because it’s so much more difficult to take off?”

“That, and it’s hot in Dorne,” Jaime said. “You wouldn’t want to-”

Cersei glared at him.

“Right, sorry,” Jaime said. He took Brienne’s face in his hands and kissed her hungrily, as Cersei continued to work on her clothes. Brienne shrugged her tunic off once it had come undone, and Jaime quickly got to unlacing her shirt and pulling it over her head.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. “What did I do to deserve you?”

Cersei busied herself with getting her own boots and breeches off, fumbling a little at the laces in her desperation. Once she was suitably undressed, she prowled back over to Brienne.

“Get on the bed,” she said, gently caressing Brienne’s breasts.

She broke away from Jaime’s mouth. “What are we going to do?”

“What do you want to do, darling?” Cersei asked.

Brienne sat down on the bed, and Cersei and Jaime sat down either side of her, both clearly just as desperate as she was, but wanting to hear what she had to say first.

“I don’t – I don’t have to – whatever you would be comfortable with, I-”

“I didn’t ask what you think we’d be comfortable with, did I?” Cersei’s voice had taken on a commanding tone, and Brienne was clearly responding to that, so she decided to press further. “I asked you want you wanted. Use your words.”

“It’s okay, Brienne,” Jaime said, running his hand along her thigh. “You can tell us.”

Brienne looked at them in disbelief, like she couldn’t believe they were asking her what she wanted. Cersei knew that she had been raised to believe that sex wasn’t supposed to be pleasurable for a woman, that she was supposed to just lie back and take it without expecting much. To have not one, but two people asking her about her desires and her needs must have been a lot for her, but Cersei was determined to see her break out of her shell and to voice her wants. No matter how in control and commanding Cersei enjoyed being during sex, she only really wanted to take that control if she knew how Brienne wanted her to do it, how she would respond best to it. Which, if what little encounters they had already had were any indication, was very, very well.

Brienne took a shaky breath, clearly struggling to come up with the words. “I want…Jaime, I want you to fuck me.” Jaime wetted his lips with his tongue, clearly just as flustered as she was. “And Cersei, if you could…if I could use my mouth on you, like we did last time. Is that – is that all right with you?”

Cersei pressed her thighs together at the thought. “That,” she said hungrily, “is more than all right.”

“If anyone tries to interrupt us,” Jaime said, “they will be very sorry.”

Brienne looked down at Cersei. “So we can do that? He can…while I…”

An incredible idea popped into Cersei’s head, and she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner.

“Lie back on the bed,” she commanded, and Brienne obliged, reclining slowly.

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked cautiously. He had one hand on each of Brienne’s thighs, and he looked caught between the frustration of waiting versus his respect of Brienne’s wants.

“You’ll see,” Cersei said, moving herself up towards Brienne’s mouth.

“Oh,” Brienne said, as Cersei knelt next to her head.

“Is that an ‘oh’ meaning you’d rather I didn’t do this, or…”

“No!” Hovering above her face, Cersei could see her beautiful blue eyes almost swallowed up by her dilated pupils. “I – I’ve heard people talk about this before, back in Renly’s camp. I didn’t imagine I’d ever…you know.”

Cersei opened her legs, placing her other knee next to Brienne’s ear, and lowered herself down. Brienne gasped eagerly as Cersei’s cunt came into contact with her mouth.

“Now,” Cersei said, feeling her pleasure begin to build before Brienne even started to move her mouth, “when you’re like this, you probably won’t be able to speak very well. So if at any point you want to stop, reach up and tap me three times, and we’ll stop. Do you understand that?”

“Yes,” Brienne said, her voice muffled.

“You’ve thought this out very well,” Jaime said, unlacing his breeches.

“I’ve had my fair share of unpleasant experiences,” Cersei said. “I want Brienne’s to be as good as – _ahhh,”_ Brienne unexpectedly ran her tongue over Cersei’s clit. “As good as possible. Ohhh, that’s… _mmh_. You’re so good at this.”

Brienne motioned her hand towards Jaime, and he seemed to pick up on her cue.

“Please,” she said, the vibrations from her voice sending an additional wave of pleasure into Cersei’s cunt.

Cersei was half inclined to make her beg – she’d sound _so_ pretty begging, but now was not the time, given her position.

Jaime looked like he needed no further prompting. Brienne spread her legs, and he eagerly lined his cock up with her entrance and pushed inside slowly. She moaned – it occurred to Cersei that she couldn’t see what Jaime was doing, so each sensation would be completely unexpected.

“Gods, Brienne,” he said, thrusting into her slowly at first as if wanting to make sure he didn’t hurt her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Him fucking her only made Brienne’s mouth more eager. Cersei threw her head back and moaned as her tongue pressed into her entrance – something she hadn’t done last time, but when she picked up on how much Cersei liked it, she kept doing it, pressing deeper and deeper with each of Jaime’s thrusts.

Cersei had never been particularly vocal during sex, usually because keeping quiet was a necessity or because it just wasn’t that good, but it took all her effort not to scream, and she hadn’t even climaxed yet. Her thighs clenched Brienne’s face harder, pulling her in deeper, and she ground her hips down on her mouth.

“You’re so good at this,” Cersei said breathily. “So good for me. For us.”

Her head came back down for a second, and she locked eyes with Jaime. Her first instinct was to look away to avoid giving him the wrong idea or to ruin the moment, but she held her gaze, and he grinned at her.

“How – _uhh –_ lucky we are,” he said, beginning to pant. “To have such a beautiful woman all to ourselves.”

Brienne reached her hands up, and for a heartwrenching second Cersei thought she was about to tap her three times and stop it, but she dug her nails into Cersei’s thighs and pulled her in deeper, and Cersei chuckled darkly.

“Do you like that?” Cersei asked. Brienne keened into her, which she took as a yes. “You’re making us feel so good, Brienne, you know that? You’re _perfect.”_

That seemed to tip Brienne right over the edge, her hips losing control and bucking into Jaime, a strangled but beautiful cry emerging from her mouth. Jaime might have already come, Cersei couldn’t tell, but she knew he would keep going anyway until Brienne reached her climax, continuing to thrust until her wave of pleasure subsided.

As Brienne’s body convulsed, her tongue slammed into Cersei’s clit, and a deep moan escaped from her throat as she too reached her climax. She gripped the sheets on the bed, clinging on for dear life as her orgasm racked through her body and her hips rolled restlessly over Brienne’s mouth.

 _That was quick,_ was the first thing she thought after she was brought back down to earth. _I haven’t come that quickly in a long time._

She slowly lifted herself off Brienne’s face, panting and covered in a fine sheen of sweat. “Thank you,” she said. She pressed a kiss on Brienne’s lips, tasting herself. “That was incredible.”

Brienne smiled hazily. “Gods.”

“Are you all right?” Jaime asked. “Sorry if it was a bit-”

“A bit what? It was perfect.” Brienne sat up slowly, one hand on the wall to steady herself. She was still trembling a little from her orgasm. “Don’t you dare suggest otherwise.”

Jaime grinned. “I was going to say, if it was a bit much.”

“Oh, it was definitely a bit much. But that,” she said, leaning over to kiss Jaime, “was the best thing about it.”

He nestled his face into her shoulder. “Boundaries successfully tested, then.”

“Oh, yes.”

“I hope they didn’t hear us up on the deck,” Cersei said.

Brienne laughed. “You mean, you hope they didn’t hear you. The rest of us managed to keep quiet.”

“Well, it’s not like _you_ had a choice, was it?” Jaime said, smirking. “Oh – you might want to wipe your face.”

“Right.” Brienne ran the back of her hand over her mouth. “I mean it, though. That was unlike anything I’ve ever done before.”

“Me too,” Cersei said, nestling herself into Brienne’s side. “Are you sure you’ve never done that on anyone before me?”

“I’m sure,” Brienne said.

“You must be a natural,” Jaime remarked.

“Oh, definitely,” Cersei said in agreement. “I meant what I said. You are absolutely perfect.”

Brienne blushed, and smiled modestly. “I think I’m the lucky one,” she said, looking between the two of them. “To have two such incredible lovers.”

Jaime stifled a yawn, and Brienne let out a laugh. “Sorry, Jaime, am I boring you?”

“No! Seven hells, Brienne, you’ve tired me out. I hope you weren’t expecting another round.”

“I don’t think I have the energy for that.”

Come on, then,” Cersei said, indicating the now rather unmade bed beneath them. “We’ll be sleeping like this for a few days. We may as well get used to it.”

And so the three of them lay down next to each other, cramped but comfortable. Cersei nestled her head into Brienne’s shoulder, feeling the ends of her soft blonde hair on her face, and Brienne’s strong arms which were wrapped around Jaime.

Myrcella’s life was in danger, and they were heading to a foreign, hostile land, but in that moment Cersei had never felt more at peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! And, by the way, I will continue the plot in KL with Sansa and Margaery alongside the Dorne plot. I just took a break from it here.


	15. Interbellum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Cersei continue to make the best of their journey to Dorne, but they can't escape the feeling that they're experiencing the calm before the inevitable storm. Back in King's Landing, Tommen makes an unwise decision and Margaery's fears prove to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! Welcome back. I couldn't help but adapt the scene where Jaime sees Tarth on the way to Dorne and contracts a serious case of heart eyes, because it was adorable. Also, to the anonymous commenter who suggested the situation with the Faith Militant might be diffused with Cersei not around...I respect your optimism, but...well, you'll have to wait and see.

**Cersei**

When Cersei awoke, the other side of the bed was empty. Her stomach lurched as she got up: the seas weren’t particularly rough, but she wasn’t accustomed to sailing, and the feeling that the vessel you were in was floating on water was quite unsettling. 

And  _ gods _ , the bed was uncomfortable. How she had managed to sleep longer than Jaime and Brienne she had no idea, her back hurt and the roughness of the sheets had left a mark on her face. 

_ This is for Myrcella, _ she reminded herself, which dulled the pain a little.  _ I can push myself out of my comfort zone for her. I will not have any more of my children taken from me.  _

She quickly got dressed and put her hair into a braid, and walked up to the deck, climbing the creaky, worn steps of the ship with as much grace and decorum as a stairway in a palace, or so she told herself to make herself feel better about her circumstances. 

The sunlight was jarring after being in the dark hold for so long, and it took her a few moments to orient herself as her eyes adjusted. Merchants and sailors were bustling about on the deck, pulling ropes and arranging cargo. They didn’t so much as look at her as she emerged from the stairs, and one pushed past her without acknowledging her.

_ These men do not know they are in the presence of a queen,  _ she said.  _ I should tell them and watch them grovel.  _

But they could not know who she was, and if any of them did, if they recognised her in her men’s clothing and suspected exactly who it was they were taking to Dorne, they wouldn’t dare speak up. 

Perhaps they relished in being able to push past her like she was a common serving girl. Perhaps, when they reached Dorne, they would tell tales of how they had trodden on Cersei Lannister’s foot and not even apologised, of how they pushed right past her knowing she could have had their heads if they looked at her the wrong way in any other situation. They would laugh at her in those taverns, she thought, say that she wasn’t as beautiful as she used to be, mocking her, calling her a bitch and a whore and a brotherfucker and a-

A glint of pale blonde hair in the sunlight caught her eye and she was pulled out of her fearful reverie. 

“Brienne,” she said brightly, trying to cast off her thoughts, blaming them momentarily on the bad night’s sleep. “Jaime.”

They didn’t acknowledge her as she moved towards them, looking out at a mass of land on the horizon together. 

“Good morning to you too,” she said, finding a spot next to Brienne and leaning against the side of the ship. “What are you looking at?”

“That’s Tarth,” Brienne said, her blue eyes wistful and longing. She didn’t tear them away from the island. 

“Oh,” Cersei said. “It’s beautiful.”

“It’s so strange,” Brienne said. “I’m so close to home, but I’ve never felt further away.”

“Do you miss it?” Jaime asked. 

Brienne chuckled. “Of course I do,” she said. “Everyone misses where they grew up. And it’s  _ beautiful,  _ it really is. You can’t see it properly from here. The waterfalls in the summer and the mountains in the winter…they’re breathtaking.”

Cersei had heard that Tarth was nothing but meadows and goats, but she wasn’t about to protest. 

“Don’t forget the sapphires,” Jaime said. “Thousands of them.”

“You do know it’s only called the Sapphire Isle because-” Cersei began to correct her brother, but Brienne interrupted her with a sharp laugh. 

“Jaime tried to protect me from sellswords who were trying to rape me by telling them Tarth was full of sapphires,” she said. “Hasn’t he told you the story of how he lost his hand?”

“He has,” Cersei said, glancing over at him. “He just failed to mention that part.”

“You weren’t being particularly receptive to the story when I told you,” he said. 

“Well, I’m sure you made a valiant effort. And it worked, at least.”

Brienne smiled a little, then looked back at Tarth. 

“I miss it,” Brienne said, “but it’s not...I don’t know. I’m a different person now, I suppose, than who I was when I left. My whole life there, I’d just been the Evenstar’s daughter, Brienne the Beauty laughed about by men in taverns, and it was only when I left that I felt like I had an identity outside of that. Although the jokes didn’t stop.”

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek, feeling guilty about her earlier paranoia. She had nothing to worry about, and those jokes and japes were merely figments of her overactive imagination. Brienne had put up with those her whole life, and she hadn’t let them bring her down. She had taken their derision of her and made something out of it, made herself a warrior from the strength it had given her. 

“Well, all those people must have been blind,” Jaime said, wrapping an arm around Brienne’s shoulders, “because you are a beauty.”

Brienne scoffed.  “Perhaps we should go there one day,” Cersei said. “I’d like to see it, if you say it’s so breathtaking.”

Brienne’s eyes flitted down. “Imagine my father seeing the two of you with me,” she said. “That would be an interesting conversation. Hello, Father, this is my lover Jaime, and his sister Cersei, who also happens to be my other lover. And, yes, Father, that  _ is  _ Jaime and Cersei  _ Lannister,  _ and, no, the rumours aren’t true. Well. Not anymore, anyway.”

“I’d like to see him try and do something about us,” Jaime said. “Would he?”

“I doubt he’d even believe me. He wouldn’t believe that one Lannister could be attracted to me, let alone two.”

Cersei chuckled, and looked out at Tarth. “Well, Lord Selwyn,” she said, raising her voice as if she could shout at him across the sea. “I love your daughter.”

She pressed a kiss to Brienne’s cheek. 

“What are you going to do about it?” she said. 

“Shhhh,” Brienne said. 

“He’s not going to hear us,” Jaime quipped.

“I - I know,” Brienne said. “But it still feels...I don’t know. Like he’ll know, somehow.”

“Well, let him. His opinion doesn’t matter,” Jaime said. 

“Well, it does-” Brienne began, but he shushed her, and she shut her mouth. 

“It doesn’t right now.” Jaime looked out at the sea, calm and glistening. “Do all Tarths have eyes as blue as the sea around it, or is it just you?”

Cersei rolled her eyes playfully at the cliche. 

“I don’t know,” Brienne said. “Do all Lannisters have hair the colour of gold?”

Jaime laughed. “Fair point.”

Cersei’s mood dipped suddenly, reminded of Myrcella and the golden hair that marked her out as a full-blooded Lannister. As Jaime’s daughter.

“I’m sorry about Myrcella,” she said wistfully, lowering her voice a little.

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “It’s not your fault she’s-”

“I mean I’m sorry you can’t be a real father towards her.” She shook her head. “I don’t even know where that came from, I just thought - you’re going to such great lengths to save her, and she can’t ever know.”

Jaime sighed. “There’s nothing I can do about that, except do as much as I can to protect her.”

“Well, from what I’ve heard, she loves you as much as she would her real father,” Brienne said. “And, maybe she...who knows. Maybe she has her suspicions.”

“Do you think so?” Cersei said.

Brienne shrugged. “She must know about the rumours, at least.”

“The sad part is,” Jaime said, “I don’t want her to know. I mean, I would like her to know, in an ideal world, but that kind of information could put her in even more danger. I just...I don't want that for her.” 

“I wonder what she’d think about  _ this  _ relationship,” Cersei said. “The three of us.”

Brienne’s expression faltered. “She doesn’t have to - I don’t want to-”

“She’d love you,” Jaime said. “Really, she would.”

“You really think so.”

“I know so. And, if all goes to plan, she’ll be meeting you anyway. And she’ll know you’re with me, if not that you’re with Cersei as well.” 

Cersei beamed with pride at the thought of that, of her daughter meeting Brienne and seeing her in all her glory and knowing that she was the one both her mother and her father -  _ uncle,  _ Cersei reminded herself,  _ uncle,  _ loved.

“I want her to know,” Cersei said. “She’d be proud. And you’re right. She’d love Brienne.”

Jaime scoffed. “I suppose it runs in the family.”

“A little too much in the family,” Brienne remarked quietly. Her eyes widened. “Shit. Sorry. That was inappropriate. I didn’t mean-”

Jaime and Cersei looked at each other, and both burst out laughing. 

“Oh, we shouldn’t be laughing,” Jaime said. “ _ A little too much in the family.” _

“More than a little,” Cersei said. She took a deep breath, inhaling the salty scent of the open water. It wasn’t the most pleasant of smells, but it felt cleansing, somehow, washing through her body and clearing her head. 

Perhaps she had just been cooped up in the Red Keep for too long, but the vast expanse of sea before her made her feel safer than those miserable walls ever had. 

_ Like at Casterly Rock,  _ she thought.  _ Before we learned to play the game of thrones. Before Jaime and I learned to use each other and twist one another into something that we weren’t.  _

If only she could feel as peaceful as this all the time. That would make things so much easier. 

But peace was never made to last, at least, not for her. 

**Margaery**

Margaery hadn’t spoken to Tommen in days, and she was beginning to genuinely worry about him. She’d seen him around the Keep, but never for long: he always had somewhere to go, someone to talk to, and dismissed her with a flick of his hand. He had even taken to eating dinner in his chambers, leaving meals awkward and silent, and with even more furtive glances from Sansa across the table. While in any other situation she would have taken this as an opportunity to see her more (were they lovers now? Was this an affair?) they had kept their distance from each other, not wanting to incite suspicion with the unstable situation they had found themselves in. 

Even though her heart belonged elsewhere, she still felt sympathy for the poor boy. She found herself thinking  _ he’s so young,  _ but he wasn’t, not really: she had not been sixteen so long ago. It was more his naivety that made her pity him, as he was in no position to have as much power as he had, especially with Cersei fucked off to who knew where for who knew how long. 

For a long time, Margaery had wanted nothing more than for her mother-by-law to leave the capital, but now that she had, her absence only further unsettled her. The city was balanced on the edge of a knife, and any minute now they would go sliding over and fall into the abyss. She just didn’t know when or how. 

But for all her pity, when she saw him, she couldn’t help but snap at him. 

“Where have you been?” she said, storming towards him as she spotted him coming back from the city. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

He looked affronted. “Aren’t I allowed to go into the city and speak to my people?”

She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. “Of course you are...sweetheart. I’ve been meaning to speak to you about something.”

“Couldn’t you have told me at dinner?”

“In private. Listen, Tommen. I was speaking to...a friend, about the Faith Militant, and she said-”

“Oh!” He seemed to perk up. “I was just speaking to them now.”

“You were?”

“Yes. I think the High Sparrow is a great man. We’ve been discussing the changes he could make to the city, and I think it sounds amazing. He says he could really make it a better place. And my cousin Lancel, he’s converted to them too-”

“Converted? You’re going to convert?”

“No! I just think - I want to make this city a better place. I didn’t know how rotten it was until I started speaking to the High Sparrow. There are so many things going on here that I didn’t know about, horrible things.”   


_ Like what?  _ Margaery thought.  _ Like men laying with men, and women laying with women? Is that what the High Sparrow told you, Tommen?  _

“Tommen,” Margaery said cautiously. “I know you mean well. But I don’t think this is a good idea. However the Faith want to change the city, it isn’t going to be-”

“I understand. You don’t want things to change. He said you might say that. But imagine how much happier my people could be if the city wasn’t so full of sin?”

“I just think - I don’t know. I’m not-”

“I’m the King,” Tommen said, and while he hadn’t meant it like that, he sounded awfully like Joffrey in that moment. “My decision on the matter is final. You can disagree with me, I’m not going to stop you, but there’s nothing you can do about it now.”

“Now? What do you mean, now? What have you done?”

“I’ve armed them.”

“What?”

“Don’t look so worried! I know you mean well, Margaery, but really, this is going to be for the best.”

“What exactly do you mean, you’ve armed them?”

“Well, the High Sparrow said they wanted to go through the city and make some changes. There are a lot of people who have strayed from the gods, and they’re going to try and help them.”

“By killing them?”

“No! No. They only wanted to be armed because they knew some people weren’t going to like it. If they have to use force, they will, but they don’t want to, and it’s for the best, really.”   


Fuck, how much had they told him? How had they managed to have such an impact on him so soon? The worst part was, he sounded so  _ happy  _ about it, like people getting arrested and murdered in the streets was a good thing. 

But of course the High Sparrow would have been able to do that. She could hear him now, she’d never met the man or heard him speak, but she could hear him twisting his words and putting them in Tommen’s mouth. That was the thing about fanatics: they knew exactly how  _ not  _ to sound like fanatics. 

“Who else knows about this?”

“Oh, no one. It was sort of spontaneous, but - Margaery, look, I don’t know what I can say to convince you that this is for the best. But trust me, it is.”

She nodded complacently. Not even Cersei’s minions on the Small Council had heard of this decision. Tommen had taken it alone. 

Her stomach dropped as she realised the immediacy of the situation.

“When you said they wanted to arrest people,” she said, “do you mean…”

“The last I saw of them, they’d already started.” He was smiling. Why was he smiling?

She clutched the sides of her dress with her hands.  _ Loras.  _ He’d gone out into the city, down to the sparring pit. If the Faith Militant wanted to arrest anyone, it meant they knew more than Margaery had realised, and almost everyone knew about Loras’s proclivities. He would be first on their list.  _ And Sansa and I could be second. If Cersei knew, anyone else could.  _

“You know what?” Her voice became frantic. “You’re right. Maybe I’m being too harsh on them.”

His smile widened. “I knew you’d come around to it!”   


She smiled back at him, the movement of her mouth almost painful. “I’m just going to go and...meet...a friend...in the city. I’ll see you at dinner?”

He nodded. “Of course.”

She walked past him, trying not to give away that she was rushing away from him. It was only when she turned the corridor and got out of his sight that she hitched up her skirts and began to sprint as quickly as she could to get to her brother before it was too late. 

**Cersei**

Cersei had thought she would become more tense as they neared Dorne, fearful in anticipation of what would actually happen when they got there, but somehow she became more hopeful. There was a strange acceptance that came with being in the middle of the water on the way to a foreign land, with no escape and no way to turn back. She even slept better, although that wasn’t saying much: she still lay awake long after Jaime and Brienne had fallen asleep in each other’s arms, feeling the waves beneath her and staring at the wooden ceiling above her. 

Brienne had insisted on Cersei and Jaime training every day, which they had happily accepted: they could both fight well at this point, despite Cersei’s inexperience and Jaime’s disadvantage, but they hadn’t been in a life-or-death situation since Brienne began teaching them. While they all knew they weren’t going to start a war, there was a good chance that the situation would escalate to a physical fight at some point, and they wanted to be prepared.

Of course, fighting with the Dornish would never be as  _ fun  _ as it was with Jaime and Brienne. Jaime had once told her that he felt most alive when he was fighting and fucking, and Cersei had in theory understood the exhilaration of a fight, but never how similar the two could be. Their practise was always so heated, and more than once when Brienne’s blade found itself under Jaime’s chin and he eyed her with a mixture of fear and arousal, Cersei understood exactly how he’d managed to fall in love with her even though he was her captive on the road back to King’s Landing. There was a certain eroticism to it, at least with them there was, and more often than not they collapsed on their pathetic mattress afterwards and no doubt kept the merchants awake as long as them with their cries of pleasure. 

But one night, when Cersei reached for her sword and the dagger she’d been instructed to hide in her boot, Brienne shook her head, and put her own weapons down. 

“Not tonight?” Jaime asked. “Are you feeling alright?”

“No!” Brienne said. “I mean, yes. I’m fine. I just thought...well, I think we all need a break from training.”

Cersei cocked an eyebrow upwards. “A break?” She moved towards Brienne and put a hand on her arm. “As in, you want to skip to the best part of the night.”

Brienne smiled, and didn’t move Cersei’s hand, but didn’t lean into her touch as she usually did. “That’s...not quite what I had in mind. It’s a lovely night, and I thought that since we’ll be in Dorne by tomorrow night-”

“Tomorrow night?” Jaime said, clearly shocked. “I thought-”

“The journey was quicker than expected,” Brienne said, “and we’ll be alighting further from Sunspear anyway. So if tonight is our last night...our last real night, before we get there, I thought we should make the best of it.” She reached for Jaime’s left hand and clasped it. “The merchants are asleep. We should go up to the deck and see the stars.”

That sounded like a much better idea than sex. 

“Spontaneous,” Jaime said, grinning appreciatively. “That’s not like you.”

Brienne chuckled. “It’s been a strange few days,” she said. 

She was right. Cersei hadn’t thought about it like that, but with their arrival in Dorne imminent, she realised that they might never get time like this again. They would never be so detached from the world, not playing the game or fighting off enemies, after this. Just existing, together. 

So they went up onto the deck. Cersei felt like a girl again, sneaking out of Casterly Rock to swim at midnight, when the moonlight on the water and the darkness of the night elicited a deep and excitable serenity inside her.

She hadn’t had the time to be romantic in a long time, to look at the world and appreciate how beautiful it was. She wasn’t sure when she would get that time again. 

“Gods,” Jaime said, looking up at the sky. “The stars.”

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Brienne said. “They never look as brilliant as they do on the open sea.”

Cersei wished with a pang that she’d taken the time to learn the names of the different constellations in the sky, as Tyrion had when he was a child. She’d turned her nose up at them at the time, saying they were pointless and that he was stupid for caring about them, but looking at them now, she wanted to understand them as he did.

“Are  _ you  _ all right, Cersei?” Jaime asked.

She nodded. “Like Brienne said. It’s been a strange few days.” She took another deep, refreshing breath. “I honestly think I could stay here forever.” 

She immediately wished she hadn’t said that the second the words left her mouth, because of course they couldn’t stay there forever: that was the point of their visit to the deck. This blissful journey was taking them to an uncertain future, and if anything it was cruel that the trip there had been the best few days in at least the past ten years of Cersei’s life. 

Instinctively, she grabbed Brienne by the hand and pulled her towards the centre of the deck. 

“What are you doing?” Brienne said. Cersei took her other hand in hers. 

“I’m doing what you said we would do. Making the best of the last night we have.” She began to sway, her movements a little awkward in the dark, pulling Brienne towards her in the best imitation of a dance that she could. 

Brienne laughed awkwardly. “We’re dancing?”

Cersei grinned. “We are.”

“No music,” Jaime remarked, still standing some distance away. 

Cersei snapped her head towards him. “Oh, get over here, Jaime,” she said, and Brienne extended an arm. 

“We can hardly dance with three people,” he said, moving closer anyway. 

Cersei scoffed. “Some would say that about fucking, but we manage that just fine.”

Brienne gasped, half-outraged, half-playful. “Cersei! Someone might hear.”

“Oh, let them,” she said, spinning Brienne around. Brienne rather awkwardly took Jaime’s hand in hers, and they stepped together, Jaime’s laughter floating through the dark. “What are they going to hear that they haven’t heard already? And besides, what are they going to do about it? It’s our word against theirs.” She broke off as she spun into Jaime’s arm, the movement clumsy and unrestrained, but fuck it, they weren’t dancing at a ball or to impress anyone or to comply with court formalities, they were doing it for  _ fun,  _ and they would do it however they liked. 

“No music,” Jaime noted. “Strange, dancing without music.”

“You haven’t danced in a long time.”

Jaime shrugged. “I’ve been too busy saving beautiful women from sellswords and fighting off bears for dancing.”

“Oh, shut up. It was one bear, and we both fought it.”

“And, Cersei, I don’t seem to remember you doing too much dancing either.” 

“Well, you know me.” She cupped Brienne’s shoulder with her hand. “I’ve been busy...being queen. Though, maybe now I’m done with that, I’ll have more time for dancing.”

“Don’t,” Brienne said. “You’re still Queen Mother.”

“Queen Mother,” Cersei said contemptuously. “Queen Regent, Queen Consort. Any queen with another word after it isn’t queen at all. She’s just a pretty placeholder.”

That brought her some comfort, knowing that Margaery was also just Queen Consort, as Cersei herself had been, no matter how bright and shiny her smile and her crown were. 

“Let’s not think about that now,” Jaime said, and Cersei did her best to clear her head and lose herself in the moment as she had a few minutes ago. She nestled her head into Brienne’s chest as they swayed in the dark, in silence, Jaime’s hand around her shoulders and the other around Brienne’s waist, the three of them holding each other. Safe. 

_ This won’t last forever,  _ Cersei said to herself.  _ Tomorrow we’ll be in Dorne.  _

_ No,  _ she said back, dismissing the niggling anticipation of the next night.  _ It won’t. But just let it last tonight.  _

So she did, and lost herself in their tuneless dance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Not like anyone asked, but I love writing paranoid Cersei, because I feel like paranoia and distrust is such a huge part of why she is the way she is, and forcing her to work through that is a huge part of the "dealing with her issues" thing I've got going on here. I wouldn't really call it a redemption arc, more of a "she gets to have a healthy relationship and a positive influence for the first time and therefore confronts a lot of the problems she wasn't forced to before". As always, feedback in comments would be appreciated :)


	16. Uncharted Waters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Margaery try in vain to protect themselves and others from the newfound danger in the capital. Cersei, Jaime and Brienne arrive in Dorne, and immediately find themselves out of their depth.

**Sansa**

There was no buildup to the rapid descent into chaos, no warning signs that all seven hells were about to break loose. 

Sansa was peacefully walking along the seafront, as she did so often those days. Walking was all she could do now that she had no duties to attend to at court and spending time with Margaery was out of the question. She thought with a pang that she even missed Margaery’s presence at her side when doing something as simple as taking a stroll, missed her arm interlocking with hers, her mouth coming just a little too close to her ear when whispering something to her, her tinkling laugh that never sounded genuine with anyone but her. 

Walking used to be all they could do together. Now they didn’t even have that. 

She took a turn away from the sea into the city, thinking that she would go around the streets a few times before heading back to the Keep, and almost immediately the peaceful tranquility by the water was disturbed by thundering footsteps, shouts and cries. 

Her gut instinct was to assume that the city was under siege, and she began to back into an alleyway, but as the source of the footsteps came past her she realised it wasn’t some invading army, but the Faith Militant. 

_Shit. Margaery must not have managed to warn Tommen about them after all._ She clung to the wall, knowing that if she turned and ran she could incriminate herself but if she went forwards she would get lost in the fray. 

They had weapons, maces and spikes and axes, and they were ransacking houses and dragging people out, men and women and children alike, kicking and screaming and handled with no mercy. 

_Who let this happen?_ Sansa thought. _How did they go from a small group of fanatics to...this?_

She took a few steps back, and screeched as she collided with someone behind her. 

Instinctively, her hand went to her necklace - it wasn’t much of a weapon, but the model Needle on the end could definitely take someone’s eye out or puncture a vein, but -

“Margaery?” she hissed. “Why would you sneak up on me like that?”

“I was trying to be subtle!” she hissed back. “I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.”

They looked at each other for a second, and without thinking, Sansa pulled Margaery in what had to be the tightest and shortest hug she’d ever given. She let go of her almost immediately after grabbing her. 

“What are you doing here?” Sansa said. “You - the Faith Militant-”

“Tommen armed them.”

“ _Tommen_ did this?”

“You were right. They’re more dangerous than any of us could have expected. They...I don’t know exactly what they said to him, but it was convincing enough, whatever it was, and now…” She gestured out at the street. 

“And you came...looking for me?”

“I came looking for Loras.” Margaery must have seen Sansa’s face fall. “Not that I didn’t want to find you! I just - I know he’s in danger. If they go after anyone, they’ll go after him.”

Shit, she was right. Loras’s proclivities were an open secret at court, and until now most people had been willing to turn a blind eye to them, but she expected no one would be ignoring him for much longer. How many more secrets were there in the capital that the Faith were just waiting to expose, that everyone else was willing to let slide?

 _Me,_ she thought. _I’m already a prisoner and I’m from a traitor family. If they even suspect me, it’ll be my head on the spikes outside the castle walls._

She and Margaery hadn’t lain together - she went to think _not yet,_ they hadn’t lain together yet, but they would probably never get the chance to now - but if Cersei had suspected them, anyone could, and they could be convicted for treason with any evidence of their relationship. 

“Are you coming?” Margaery asked. “This morning Loras said he would be down in the sparring pit. If we can get to him before the Faith, maybe we can stop them from arresting him.”

_Then again, what do I have left to lose? My whole family is dead. Margaery is all I have left. If I die protecting her and Loras, it’ll be worth it._

She turned towards Margaery, a decisive fire in her eyes. “Let’s go,” she said. 

**Cersei**

The sun was setting above the sea, and Cersei, Jaime and Brienne were huddled in their quarters in the hold.

“The ship will drop us off not far from Sunspear,” Jaime explained. “We’ll take a rowboat the rest of the way, under cover of night.”

Cersei resisted the urge to make a face at the prospect of the three of them cramped in a rowboat for the night. _It’s for Myrcella,_ she reminded herself. 

“You’ve never been to Dorne before, have you?” Cersei asked. Brienne shook her head. 

“I always thought I’d like to go,” she said. “It always seemed...exciting. Adventurous.”

“My friend Bronn once told me that all the Dornish want to do is fight and fuck,” Jaime remarked.

“Your friend Bronn is a cunt,” Cersei reminded him. “Though, if the lovely Martells are any indication of their population, he might just be right.”

Brienne made a face. “Just like how everyone from the Westerlands is a rich prick who doesn’t give two shits about anyone other than themselves?”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Your point?”

“I’m saying that your _friend_ probably only said that because that’s what we want to think of them.” She hesitated a little to check that Cersei and Jaime were both listening, but continued. “Of course everyone from the Westerlands isn’t like what I said, so why should we assume the same of the Dornish?”

Jaime’s eyes flickered towards Cersei’s, full of pride and affection, as if to say _aren’t we lucky?_

Cersei pretended not to care, scoffing a little at his obvious display of affection, but Brienne’s words resonated with her just as much as with him. 

“Perhaps we shouldn’t make such....generalisations. But it still stands that they’re not going to be exceptionally welcoming towards us.”

“Especially since we’re taking their princess,” Brienne said. 

“She is not _their_ anything,” Cersei said. “She is my daughter, and she was not freely given to them in the first place.”

“I understand that you’re angry,” Brienne said, “but the most important thing is not to start a war.”

“Just because I’m angry at them, doesn’t mean it’s going to incite another war,” Cersei said. 

“I mean any sort of fight. We have to go down there and reason with them. That’s the most important thing. The weapons are just...a precaution.”

“What if they don’t want to be reasoned with?” Jaime asked. 

“Then we take precautions. Which reminds me. Weapons.” Brienne had clearly put a lot of thought into this, and she almost seemed as though she was enjoying taking charge of the operation. She was certainly good at it, organised and resourceful. “Cersei, you’ve got your sword and the dagger. Jaime, you’ll have your sword. There are a few additional weapons in the supply bag, knives and scabbards and things, just in case we lost them in a fight - obviously, we’re not trying to start one, but…”

“It’s likely,” Jaime said. “That there’ll be one eventually, I mean. We just have to hold it off as long as we can.”

Cersei wasn’t sure that letting her have two weapons was the best idea, considering that she’d have to be restrained from driving her dagger deep into Ellaria’s heart the second she set eyes on her, but she wasn’t exactly complaining.

“Now,” Brienne said, leaning in. “Jaime, how many men do you think you could take on?”

Jaime looked hopelessly at his left hand. “One? Two, if I’m being optimistic.”

“Cersei?”

She shrugged. “One or two at best, I suppose. It depends how good they are.”

Which, with them being Dornish, would probably be very good. For all Brienne’s rigorous training and confidence in her, Cersei knew deep down that she wasn’t prepared for an actual fight, much less with an experienced swordsman. Without Brienne and Jaime behind her, she would stand no chance, though she supposed the same could be said of Jaime. They needed each other, and it went without saying that Brienne was really the powerhouse of the whole operation. Physically, at least.

“Right,” Brienne said. “Which brings me to Jaime: please make sure your gold hand is covered.”

He shamefully put his hand in his lap. 

“People might not be able to recognise you straight away - anyone with blonde hair and green eyes could say they were one of the Lannister twins - but the hand will be a dead giveaway. The same goes for you, Cersei - you’ll need to take your necklace off.”

She huffed, but fiddled with the clasp and pulled it off. She slipped into her other boot - if she lost it, she didn’t know what she would do. 

“Do you really think we won’t be recognised?” Cersei said. 

“Listen,” Brienne said. “If you told anyone other than the Martells that you were Cersei Lannister and you’d come to rescue your daughter Princess Myrcella, you’d be laughed out of Dorne. And you’d probably hear some very unsavoury jokes. If, on the other hand, they found out from a reliable source - like the golden hand - that you were Cersei and Jaime Lannister, you’d likely be dead before we reached Sunspear. This might come as a shock to you, but you aren’t very popular in Dorne.”

Cersei mock-gasped. “Really? I had no idea. Do go on.”

Brienne chuckled a little at her sarcasm. “The best we can do is keep a low profile until we get there. Don’t draw attention to ourselves and don’t talk to anyone unless absolutely necessary. When we get to the Water Gardens it’ll be a whole different story, but until then…”

“And what are we going to do once we get there?” Jaime asked. “Just say, hello, this is our daughter-”

“Niece,” Cersei reminded him sharply. “Niece. We cannot - we absolutely cannot let anyone know that-”

“Of course,” he said. “But my point is, they won’t let her go willingly.”

Cersei hadn’t considered the technicalities of the rescue, or at least, not the subtleties of it. She had assumed that either they would just walk in and take her, or that it would result in a war: not the more nuanced outcomes in between.

“We find some sort of leverage,” she said. “We…”

She trailed off, a thousand angry responses surging to her lips but none of them sounding hopeful.

“Exactly,” Brienne said. “What leverage is there?”

They were all silent for a second, slowly realising exactly what they had managed to get themselves into.

“We’ll discuss it with them,” Cersei said. “If we go in, swords drawn, there’s no hope of negotiation.”

Jaime cocked an eyebrow. “Peaceful negotiation? Who are you, and what have you done with my sister?” 

Cersei knew he was only half joking. “I never said anything about _peaceful._ They’ll have something to lose, everyone does. We go in under the guise of diplomacy, we find their weakness, and we exploit it. If they want to use Myrcella as a bargaining chip, two can play at that game.” She could feel the wheels turning in her mind, the exuberance of a plan coming together and the execution in sight.

Brienne’s eyes moved over to Jaime. “I’m no expert in diplomacy, but that sounds...viable.”

Jaime nodded. “I think this is all just very dependent on us not starting a war.”

Cersei went to open her mouth, but Brienne held up a hand. She was deep in thought, looking at the floor.

“Brienne?” Cersei asked. “Are you-”

She got up quickly, slinging their supply bag over her shoulder. “The ship’s come to a stop.”

She was right: the constant churning in Cersei’s stomach had settled a little, resulting in a strange feeling of emptiness.

Cersei got to her feet, smoothing down her breeches and securing her sword at her side.

Brienne looked between her and Jaime. “Are you ready?”

“It’s not like it matters,” Cersei said. “We’ve come this far.”

She had intended for the words to sound brave and resolved, but a tremor had entered her voice and made her sound frightened. Which she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t. She was only going to a city where everyone hated her, to rescue her daughter from her enemies, with limited combat experience and even more limited time…

She refocused her thoughts. She couldn’t afford to spiral, not now.

“You’re sure?” Brienne asked. “We can’t stay here much longer, but if you need a few moments…”

Cersei shook her head defiantly. “Like I said. It doesn’t matter. Now let’s go and get Myrcella before those Martell fuckers kill her.”

Jaime and Brienne exchanged a glance, one Cersei was all too familiar with from instances where she had been a little more aggressive than was necessary.

“You know what?” Jaime said. “I think that’s exactly the attitude we need right now.”

Brienne nodded in agreement.

**Sansa**

King’s Landing had always been a hostile and frightening city to Sansa. She had always felt like she was running from some enemy here in the capital, like watchful eyes were boring into her and scrutinising her every move.

But it had never been so...literal. She and Margaery dashed through the narrow streets of King’s Landing, desperate to avoid the chaos in the midst of it but also trying to outpace the Faith. She was reminded harshly of running away from the capital after Joffrey’s wedding, dragged through alleyways to go to another place she didn’t belong, to become a pawn for another enemy. 

Margaery wasn’t dragging her. She led the way, and Sansa carefully followed, willingly falling into step beside her, holding her hand and giving in return as much energy as she took. 

When they once again emerged by the seafront, their hands immediately came free of each other, aware once again of how exposed they were. 

The sparring pit was right in front of them. The fighters were wearing helmets, but Margaery must have immediately recognised Loras’s clothes, because she dashed towards one of them straight away. 

“Loras!” she cried, her voice ragged from running. “Loras!” 

Loras turned around, and took his helmet off. “Margaery.” His eyes flickered over to Sansa, who walked quickly towards the pit behind Margaery. “Sansa. What...what are you doing here? I’m in the middle of someth-”

Margaery grabbed his arm forcefully. “We have to go. Now.”

Loras scoffed. “Don’t be-”

“Listen,” Sansa said. “The Faith Militant are coming. They’re armed and they’re arresting people in the streets. Come with us, now.”

Loras’s eyes widened. “Shit,” he said. “Where can we…”

Sansa hadn’t even thought about that. Where were they going to go, where they could hide from the Faith? They couldn’t leave the city, and as long as they stayed here, they were in danger. 

But she didn’t get the time to formulate a response to that, because the second Loras’s words left his mouth, the sound of heavy footsteps and clanking weapons approached down the stony staircase, and the black cloud of the Faith Militant emerged.

“We’re too late,” Margaery said. 

“Don’t back away,” Sansa said. “That’ll only incriminate us - you - further. Hold your ground.”

Loras nodded, the movement shaky and uncertain, but he remained rooted to the spot. 

Lancel Lannister was leading the charge, a bloody star carved into his forehead.

“Seize him,” he said, and a few men began to surge forwards. 

Margaery held up a hand. “What is the meaning of this?” 

The Sparrows ignored her, and continued to march. 

“Your queen asked you a question,” she said, her voice adopting a steely, authoritative tone. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Loras of house Tyrell,” Lancel said. “You have broken the laws of gods and men.”

One of the Sparrows pushed Margaery off Loras’s arm, and she stumbled back a few feet. 

“You would dare touch your Queen like that?” Sansa said, staring them down as they grabbed Loras and pinned his hands behind his back. “Let him go.”

“We don’t answer to the queen,” Lancel said. “Nor do we answer to the daughters of traitors. We only answer to the gods.”

Sansa’s blood boiled. Her hand jerked out instinctively to slap him across the face, but she managed to catch herself in time. Any violent action she took against them would only incriminate both her and the Tyrells further. 

“This is treason,” Margaery said. “Unhand my brother now, or there will be consequences.”

“The king has given us permission to deliver justice as we see fit,” Lancel said. “And you do not have more power than the King, Your Grace.”

“The king did not consent to _this,”_ Sansa said. “I know Tommen, he’s...he’s a good person. He wouldn’t want you to do this.”

“Perhaps not,” Lancel said, and it took all Sansa’s willpower not to jam her little Needle into his eyes. “But he has given us our weapons. And we will use them as we see fit.”

Three of the Sparrows dragged Loras away, and Margaery reached for him hopelessly. 

One of them stepped towards Sansa, brandishing his mace. She did not recoil. 

“Who are you to question our authority?” he said. “Sansa Stark, isn’t it? The bitch from the North. A traitor.”

“She is no traitor,” Margaery hissed. “The Queen Mother pardoned her crimes under the condition that she remain in the capital.”

Lancel flinched at the mention of Cersei. Sansa pretended to ignore it, but catalogued the motion in the back of her mind. 

“And,” Margaery said. “A dear friend of mine. If you lay a finger on her, you will be very sorry.”

The leering Sparrow looked between the two of them. “A dear _friend?”_

Sansa’s heart plummeted. 

“What will happen to my brother?” Margaery asked. 

“He will be given a trial,” Lancel said, “and will be punished accordingly as we find evidence.”

“Well, we will see you there,” Margaery said. “Have you anything else you wish to say to your Queen?”

None of the Sparrows said anything. 

Margaery cocked an eyebrow. “Very well,” she said. “Come, Sansa. Let us return to the Red Keep. I need to have a word with my husband, the King.” 

Sansa went to reach for Margaery’s arm, but then decided against it. They walked away confidently, to show the Sparrows that they were not afraid, even though Sansa was quivering on the inside and she knew Margaery was doing the same. 

“Are you really going to speak to Tommen?” she asked. 

Margaery shook her head. “It’s gone past that. I don’t have any chance of getting through to him now. But we have to keep fighting. For Loras and for us.”

**Brienne**

Jaime was still asleep. 

She didn’t blame him, though: rowing to the shore after nightfall had been challenging, especially with three people cramped in the boat and him only having one hand. The excitement of actually making it to Dorne had been overshadowed by exhaustion, and even Cersei had managed to sleep for a few hours in the dunes. 

Now, she was plaiting Cersei’s hair back into the braid she wore, weaving her fingers gracefully through the silken gold. 

“You’re very good at this,” Cersei remarked. 

Brienne chuckled. “Your handmaidens weren’t better?”

“My handmaidens used to pull my hair so much, I’d swear they were trying to pull it off my head. Your touch is much gentler.” She turned her head around, the edge of her green eyes boring into Brienne’s. “Surprising, all things considered. Then again, you never fail to surprise me.”

“Well, you’re one to talk. After our experiences on the ship, I’d think that you would be the one doing the hair-pulling.”

Cersei scoffed. “ _Brienne._ Another vulgar joke? My brother and I are terrible influences on you.”

Brienne tied the braid at the bottom, and let it fall to Cersei’s back, a rope of shimmering gold that glinted in the lazy sunlight. “I might have been a maid when I came to King’s Landing, but I was hardly a blushing one.”

And while it was certainly up for debate as to whether Cersei was a bad influence on Brienne, she had certainly seemed to be a _good_ influence on her. Cersei seemed a lot happier these days, she slept better and worried less, at least out loud, and while she still had outbursts of anger and rage, she found better ways to calm herself down, and was more open to rational suggestions. 

Brienne couldn’t take all the credit for that - the Lannister twins ending their relationship had had a vastly positive impact on both their lives - but she liked to think that Cersei could accredit just a little of her happiness to her. 

And honestly, the Lannisters had changed her life for the better as well. For the first time, she didn’t feel out of place, didn’t secretly long to be a beautiful woman no matter how comfortable she was with a sword in her hand. At times, she still wondered what she did to deserve these two golden gods, and questioned if they really cared about her or if they were going to turn around one day and declare that it was all a cruel trick, because no one could ever love Brienne the Beauty like that. 

But sitting on the sand in the early morning with Cersei at her side and a sleeping Jaime at her feet, all it took was one look into either pair of green eyes to dispel any of her fears. 

“Should we wake him?” Cersei said thoughtfully. 

“Let him sleep,” Brienne said. He looked so peaceful lying there, she didn’t want to disturb him. “It’s still early.”

Cersei nodded, brushing sand off her breeches. “I’ve no idea how he can sleep so well on the ground. It’s so uncomfortable.” She chuckled to herself. “Listen to me. I’ve come to save my daughter from my enemies, and here I am complaining about sand.”

Brienne didn’t know what to say to that, so she just stretched her legs out on the ground. 

“You’re all right, though?” she asked. A wistfulness had entered Cersei’s eyes as they both stared into the dunes in front of them. 

Cersei laughed a little to herself, though Brienne wasn’t sure what about. “I was just thinking about Jaime. You know, he and I used to say we were one soul in two bodies. The things we’d tell ourselves sometimes…”

“You don’t think you are?”

“I think we’re very different people. You know that better than anyone. But...I really believed that, once. I thought, if I was a man, I’d be Jaime, and if he were a woman he’d be me.” She shrugged. “I think it was just a way for us to justify our relationship, our dependency on each other.”

Brienne wasn’t sure what had brought on this introspection about their past relationship, but it intrigued her. “If you don’t mind me asking, why exactly did you end it? I mean...I know it wasn’t a good relationship, but I don’t think I ever heard exactly how it happened.”

“I-” Cersei broke off, and grabbed the dagger out of her boot. “Shit!”

For a second, Brienne thought they were under attack from some invisible enemy, but when Cersei drove the dagger into the ground next to Jaime’s head, she realised there had been a snake there, in the sand, about to bite him.

Jaime gasped awake. “What the fuck?”

Cersei held up the speared snake.

“I thought you were about to kill me!”

“Oh, please.” Cersei tossed the dead snake onto the ground. “If I wanted to kill you-”

“You would have done it already, yes, I know.” He sat up slowly.

Brienne looked at the snake. “Please don’t hate me for saying this.”

“Saying what?” Jaime said, his eyes suddenly flooding with concern. 

She held it up. “This might have to be our breakfast."

Cersei huffed. 

  
  


A while later, they’d managed to get a fire going and eat the poor creature. At first, Cersei had turned her nose up at it, but she’d taken a few cautious bites from her portion and seemingly realised that it wasn’t so bad, especially when you were hungry. 

“So,” Cersei said. “Do you want to know the answer to your question?”

“What question?” Jaime said. 

Brienne cast her eyes downwards, suddenly ashamed of her bout of curiosity. “You don’t have to-”

“She asked why we ended our relationship,” Cersei explained. “Honestly, I’d assumed you told her.”

Jaime scoffed. “The details are quite unpleasant, Brienne. Let me spare you them.”

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Brienne said. “But it’s not going to make me think of you any differently.” 

Jaime seemed to concede. “Well, then. It had been falling apart for a while, I think, but we didn’t want to admit it. We didn’t really trust each other, we were always fighting about something or other and we didn’t resolve it properly-”

“That and the fact that you’d fallen in love with some lady knight on the Kingsroad,” Cersei said with mock derision. 

Jaime laughed, and pressed a kiss to the soft skin between Brienne’s jaw and neck. “And that. But then, we did something...unforgivable. Really, even by our standards.”

“Does she...need to know what it was?” Cersei said tentatively. 

Brienne’s respect for her partners was telling her _no,_ but her incessant curiosity was telling her _yes._ “I’d like to know, but-”

“We fucked in the sept,” Cersei blurted out. 

“Cersei!” Jaime said indignantly. 

Brienne’s eyes flitted between the twins. “I mean, it’s hardly ideal for the situation, but I wouldn’t call it unforgivable-”

“Next to Joffrey’s body.”

“Oh, gods!” That was...yes, Brienne could see how that could break up a lifelong codependent incestuous relationship.

“I tried to warn you,” Jaime said. “Not pleasant. After that, we were both just...aware of how wrong it was. We ended it pretty soon afterwards.”

“And then…” Cersei’s hand snaked around Brienne’s wrist. “Then, you showed up.”

Brienne smiled to herself, feeling the warmth on both sides of her body. 

“Lucky us,” Jaime said.

“Lucky _me,”_ Brienne said. In this respect, at least, she must have been the luckiest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. 

They sat in silence for a moment, before Jaime said “You’re not disgusted, then?”

Brienne laughed. “I mean, it’s obviously a terrible thing to do, but...you understand that. It sounds like you were more disgusted than I could ever be.”

“Oh, gods, yes,” Cersei said. “That was awful. And very uncomfortable.”

“So, no, it hasn’t irreparably tarnished my opinion of you,” Brienne said. She wasn’t sure how much it would take for that to happen, given all she already knew about them, but she understood it would have to be a lot. 

Brienne’s breath hitched in her throat. She pressed a hand to the ground, and a chill crept up her spine. 

“Horses,” she said. “Get down.”

She stamped out the fire quickly as Cersei and Jaime crouched. 

“Soldiers?” Jaime asked. 

Brienne shrugged. “They could be. Shhh.” 

The hoofsteps were definitely still heading towards them, making padded noises in the sand. Brienne rose up a little from her crouching position and leaned over the dune. 

“They’re armed,” she muttered. “Could be soldiers, guards...merchants looking for a fight…”

She ducked back down as one of them turned towards her, but clearly not fast enough. 

“Over here!” a voice said, and the horses sped into a gallop. 

“Fuck,” Cersei said. “What now?”

“Don’t run,” Brienne said. “Don’t go on the defensive...or the offensive. Stay calm. We’re just passing through. If we don’t look suspicious, they won’t attack us.”

“And if they do attack us?” Cersei hissed. 

Brienne shrugged. “Then we attack back, I suppose.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! It's occurred to me after writing the Brienne POV for this chapter that the vast majority of the POVs are from Cersei. This is for a reason: I think Cersei has the most to gain or change from this situation. While Jaime and Brienne obviously have development, we see their impact on each other in canon, even if their relationship happens much earlier and very differently here. Cersei doesn't have that in canon, and the development she goes through as a result of this relationship is much more evident when we see it through her eyes. I want to tell this story from a variety of perspectives, but I keep falling back on her because hers is the most different to the one written in the show. Wow! More unnecessary rambling. As always, feedback would be appreciated!


	17. The Killers of Reason

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is from "The Stupid, The Proud" by IAMX. 
> 
> I will make a confession here: I haven't read the books. (Yet.) And while this fic certainly follows show canon, I know that a lot of aspects of the Dorne arc were changed (read: poorly written) in the show, and that the Sand Snakes were oversexualised and underused. I will certainly try to write the Sand Snakes better than that and also to draw some elements from the book arc into this (though like I said it will actually follow show canon, just tweaked in places). Also, disclaimer about Cersei again, she says some not-so-nice things about certain characters here, which do not reflect my own opinion of them.

**Cersei**

Brienne approached the soldiers first, her hands outstretched in surrender. “All right, all right!” Getting up, she turned to Jaime and Cersei. “Get up. The more we resist, the more suspicious we’ll look.”

Cersei went to reach for the dagger in her boot, but Jaime moved her hand away. 

“Not yet,” Jaime said. 

As they climbed out from behind the dune, the soldiers rode forwards and surrounded them. _Four of them, three of us. Could we take that?_

She tried her best to maintain her steely expression as she looked at the soldiers. They stared her down, and she could feel Brienne and Jaime’s glares on her too. 

Wait. Were they expecting her to say something?

“Good morning,” she said, attempting to roughen up her accent a little. 

“Who are you?” one of them said. 

“Nadya Heatherspoon,” she said, the false name rolling easily off her tongue. “This is my brother...Arthur, and his wife, Melara.”

Brienne stiffened a little next to her, and she could only see the corner of Jaime’s mouth twitch, but he seemed to be repressing a smile. Pretending to be married would be the easiest part of this lie for them, certainly. 

The soldier frowned. “Where are you from? Can’t quite place the accent.”

“Estermont,” Cersei said confidently. “That can happen, it’s a...small island.”

“I didn’t think they took kindly to woman warriors in Estermont. Yet here you are, swords at your sides.”

“They don’t! You’re right, they don’t, which is why we came here, to...start a new life. But our ship capsized - we barely made it to shore. Isn’t that right, Melara?”

“Oh, yes.” Brienne’s accent was much better than Cersei’s. 

“Thought the sharks might get us,” Jaime said. His accent left something to be desired. 

“There are no sharks in Dorne.”

“Aren’t there?”

“They certainly looked like sharks to me,” Cersei said, running with it.

“Dolphins, maybe?” Brienne offered. 

“Could have been dolphins,” Cersei said.

“Put your swords in the sand,” the soldier said. 

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “There’s no need for that.” Her authoritative tone slipped out, and she tried to push it back in. “Just direct us to the Water Gardens, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Swords in the sand. Now.”

“Nadya…” Jaime said warningly. 

Cersei could feel the anger rising in her blood, but she tried to settle her features. “Come along. Just tell us-”

“You don’t want to put your weapons down?”

“Cersei!” Brienne said. “Just-”

Her breath hitched in her throat as she realised her mistake. Cersei felt something drop in her chest. 

“What was that?” All four of the soldiers closed in on them. 

“What was what?” Cersei said. 

“She-” he gestured at Brienne, “called you Cersei.”

Cersei scoffed. “It’s a more common name than you think. Made things terribly embarrassing when we visited King’s Landing, but-”

“So common that you had to lie about your name?”

Jaime stepped forwards. “You really think that the Queen Mother would dress in men’s clothes and come all the way to Dorne? Whatever for?”

Cersei’s breath was quickening. Her hand jumped to the sword at her side, which made the soldiers get even closer. 

“You said your brother was married to this woman?” another soldier said, from behind her.

“Yes!” Cersei said. “Just a few weeks ago, in-”

“Funny,” he said. “I wouldn’t expect you to let your brother-lover go so easily. But then again, you know what they say about Lannisters-”

Cersei’s sword was in her hand before she even realised she’d moved. The anger in her blood boiled over and spilled into her movements, and she slashed into the soldier with an almighty grunt, knocking him off his horse and causing blood to spatter into the sand. 

She let out a satisfied sound as he hit the ground. Her heart thrummed with energy and rage as she heard the clang of swords drawing behind her. 

“Three for three,” she said, clenching her teeth. “And they say Dornishmen don’t fight fair.”

She vaguely heard Jaime and Brienne grunting and swinging their swords behind her, and a flame of fear ignited in her, but it was engulfed by the inferno of adrenaline coursing through her. The third soldier was charging at her, and she lunged for his horse, slashing it across its stomach and causing it to crumple to the ground, entrails slipping out with it. 

She held out her sword as he charged towards her. She almost wanted to ask him if he knew he was about to fight the Queen of Westeros and watch his resolve crumble, but she quickly caught on that there wasn’t nearly as much time for witty quips in the midst of fights as there was with Jaime and Brienne. 

Their swords clashed together, the dissonant song of metal on metal filling the air. It wasn’t that different from her previous sparring, there was still that exhilaration present, almost overwhelming the very present threat of death. 

She overestimated her own strength and tried to land a kick to his chest, misguided by her own confidence, and he kicked her to the floor. Her sword flew out of her reach. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs in something that resembled a pained chuckle. 

He inched closer to her, about to take her head off, but she merely smiled as the blade neared her. _What am I doing?_

“Would you kill the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms?” she asked. _I can’t talk my way out of this. What am I thinking?_

Still, it seemed to work. He hesitated, the blade still inches from her throat. 

“Cersei Lannister is not the Queen anymore,” he said. She seethed. 

“But you could still be starting a war. You think the King will like that, hearing that his mother was found dead in Dorne killed by a traitorous soldier?” She got to her feet, arms up in surrender. 

“You’re lying.” Still, a flicker of fear entered his eyes, and his sword arm began to tremble. _Good._

“Oh, I’m not, am I? Tell me, do you have a wife? Children? I’m sure their heads will look lovely decorating the spikes outside the walls of the Red Keep. Or my son will put you in the Black Cells - you know what we do to traitors down there?” She was making it all up now, beheading had only been a punishment for actual traitors and the Black Cells had hardly been used since Joffrey died, but the fear in the man’s eyes made her press further. “I do think Tommen is more similar to his dearly departed brother than people think. He would show just as little mercy to you if you killed me. Now, put your sword down.”

He didn’t. His sword arm was trembling, but he kept it aloft. 

_He hasn’t killed me yet. Which means I have time. Where are Jaime and Brienne?_

“Put it down.”

“Why should I believe that you’re the Queen, anyway?” He was definitely bluffing, trying to buy himself some time. 

An idea began to form in Cersei’s head, the hazy thrill of the fight clearing as the soldier stared her down. “I have my necklace in my boot. A golden lion pendant, crafted from the finest gold from Casterly Rock. Put your sword down, and I’ll show it to you.”

He shook his head. “You think I would fall for that?”

“Go on, then. Kill me before I can get it out. Take your chances with the King.”

She cocked her head, and the details of her plan fell into place. She would reach into her boot, the one with the pendant in him, and trick him into thinking she had been honest, then -

He jerked upwards as a sword ran through his stomach. 

“What?” Cersei couldn’t help but exclaim as his blood spattered lightly over her. As he fell to the ground, Brienne stood behind him, looking at her with confusion. 

“What were you doing?”

“I had the situation handled!” She looked down at the dead Dornishman. “I was going to kill him!”

“Don’t sound so disappointed,” Jaime said, walking down the dune. 

“I’m not disappointed,” Cersei said, which was mostly true. “And I had it under control.”

“You were going to talk your way out of getting killed?” Jaime said.

“Stranger things have happened.” Cersei walked over to retrieve her sword. “And for the record, he was listening.”

“Sorry about that,” Brienne said. “Saying your name, I mean - I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Cersei shrugged, and shoved her sword back into her sheath. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. They’re all dead. Now, there are still three horses back there. I say we take them to the Water Gardens, and we’ll get there much faster.”

“We could take their clothes, as well,” Brienne said. “I mean, this one-” she gestured towards the body still on the floor, “is too bloody, but the other ones should be fine."

Jaime shook his head. “There’s two up there which should be all right, but Cersei...you really did a number on that first soldier. It’s not pretty.”

“Are you complaining about that?”

“Just making an observation.”

She scoffed. 

They rode for a few hours, immensely grateful for the horses and the fact that they wouldn’t have to walk in the baking sun. They spoke aimlessly amongst themselves, none of them wanting to discuss the eventuality in front of them, but when they turned a corner, and the gates of the Water Gardens loomed much closer than they had expected, they immediately fell silent. 

Jaime turned his horse sharply, diverting them from the sight of any guards, and Cersei and Brienne followed him onto the side of the road. 

“Now,” Brienne said, as they all dismounted and tied their horses to a tree, “Jaime, you and I can go into the gardens without raising suspicion. Cersei, you’ll need to stay out here and keep watch, and if anyone tries to come in while we’re dealing with Myrcella…”

“Kill them, yes, I know.”

“No-” Brienne opened her mouth, then closed it again. 

“Maybe think about it first and kill them afterwards,” Jaime said. “You know, make a judgement about it.”

“Ah, yes, because you’re so good at that.” Cersei smirked. “I was joking. Well. Half-joking, anyway.”

“...Right,” Brienne said. “I trust your judgement, Cersei.”

Jaime grinned. “You’re sure you want to do that?”

“Shush!” Cersei said. They would never get anywhere if they kept going back and forth like this, fun as it was. “I’ll keep watch. Now go. The sooner we can get our d…” She bit the inside of her cheek. “We can get Myrcella, the sooner we can leave.”

Brienne nodded. “Right. Ready?”

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said. “She’ll love you.”

Brienne scoffed. “We’re hardly being introduced at a family dinner, Jaime.”

“She will, though,” Cersei said, smiling despite the fear humming at the back of her mind. 

“Either way, we’d better go and find out,” Brienne said. 

Cersei got up on her tip-toes, and pressed a kiss to Brienne’s cheek. She gasped softly in surprise, a delighted sound that relieved some of the tension in Cersei’s body. 

“What was that for?” Brienne asked. 

“Luck,” Cersei said. “Now, really. Go.”

Brienne nodded slowly, and she and Jaime walked into the labyrinthine paths of the gardens. Cersei saw him nervously reach his hand towards hers, and she clasped it tight, both clearly nervous. 

As they turned a corner and vanished into the hedgerows, Cersei slid around the gate, trying to keep one eye on the empty road behind her while still watching Jaime and Brienne. She scanned the gardens, the bright colours of the flowers almost hurting her eyes. Everything in Dorne was too bright, too hot, oversaturated in the baking sun, and it -

Her heart thudded against her ribcage as she caught sight of a figure dressed in yellow standing by a fountain, golden hair glinting in the sun and a flower as delicate as her decorating it. _Myrcella._

A relieved gasp escaped her as the world around her blurred, with her daughter at the centre in full focus. _She’s alive. She’s alive and happy - and she’s grown. And she’ll be with her mother again, soon._ She was walking with a boy, but he barely registered in Cersei’s vision. 

A tear dripped from her eye, strangely refreshing on her skin in the baking heat. She’d expected herself to be able to keep it together when she saw her again, but it was taking all of her self-restraint not to run over there, cutting through flowers and fountains, and wrap her in her arms, never letting go again as long as she lived. 

Two cloaked figures dressed in yellow approached her: Jaime and Brienne. Another tear. Myrcella looked so shocked, so happy to see him. She imagined the conversation they were having in her mind - _Uncle Jaime! It’s so good to see you, but what are you doing here? Who’s this woman - is she your lover? Is she your wife? It’s lovely to meet you, Brienne, and to see how happy you make my mother and my uncle…_

Cersei’s reverie was shattered as three figures emerged from the palace behind them. At first she didn’t take much notice of them: there were quite a few people walking around the gardens and none of them seemed to be any threat, but these three were walking intently towards where Jaime, Brienne and Myrcella were standing, the weapons at their side glinting in the sun. Ellaria’s sand bitches, she suspected. 

“Shit,” she muttered to herself, and she ran into the gardens, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword. 

“Jaime!” she shouted, panting, as she neared the fountain. “Brienne! They - behind-”

Myrcella gasped, and she stepped away from the Dornish boy with her. “Mother?”

Their green eyes locked together, and despite the present danger, Cersei gasped with joy and instinctively ran to her daughter and enveloped her in a hug. 

“Myrcella,” she said. “My daughter. My only daughter. I thought I’d never see you again.”

She buried her head in her daughter’s shoulder, if only so Jaime and Brienne didn’t see her crying. 

“What are you doing here?” Myrcella said. “Shouldn’t you be in King’s Landing?” 

“I’m sorry?” the Dornish boy said - Trystane Martell, Cersei realised now, and in her mind hazy with relief and joy at seeing Myrcella again she thought _oh,_ fuck _, now the Martells know we’re here as well. And we can’t kill them to keep them quiet._ “Myrcella, this is your mother? Queen Cersei?”

Cersei broke out of the hug. “Prince Trystane, I assume.”

“No, tell me, _Your Grace?_ What is the Queen Mother doing here in Sunspear?”

His eyes darted over her body, her clothes, the sword at her side. The blood on her shirt. _Fuck._

“Cersei?” Brienne said cautiously, as if not wanting to break up the moment between her and Myrcella. “What exactly is going on?”

Trystane eyed her suspiciously. He looked at Jaime, and Brienne, at the blood stains on their clothes, too. 

“Now, now,” Jaime held up his hands. “Let’s all try and-”

Trystane elbowed Jaime in the face, and drew the sword at his side. 

“Trystane!” Myrcella shouted. 

“This might be a good time to mention that there are three armed-” Cersei spoke too late, as a whip curled around Jaime’s wrist and he was yanked off his feet. 

Brienne caught him and pushed him back, drawing her own sword in front of her as three women closed around them, wielding knives and whips and fierce, angry expressions. 

Cersei drew her own sword as they sized her up, trying to reflect their own expression in her face even though she was sure they all had far more experience than her. 

“She’s Cersei Lannister,” Trystane said, a desperation in his voice. 

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek. 

“Trystane,” Myrcella said behind her. “You didn’t have to-”

“Listen,” Brienne said, gripping her sword tighter. “You won’t get anywhere fighting us. We’re here to-”

The tall woman in the middle lunged at her with her spear, and Brienne ducked. 

“Well, fuck that,” Brienne said, and she drove her sword upward into the girl’s spear, the two blades scraping against each other. The little one with short hair went at Jaime, her whip still wrapped around his wrist, and Cersei cleaved it in half with her sword. 

Jaime shook his hand free, and the little Dornish bitch sized the two of them up. She was much smaller than them, but she clearly had experience on her side.

“Is it true, then?” she said, tilting her head and raising her daggers. “Are you the Lannisters?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Cersei said. The girl lunged a blade at her, and she deflected it with her sword, daring her to get closer. She and Jaime could probably take her together. 

But if it was one against two here...and there had been three Sand Snakes…

Cersei ducked and darted away from the girl, whipping her head around to see the third Sand Snake clutching Myrcella’s wrist. 

“Get your hands off my daughter!” she grunted, wrenching the girl off her and pushing her to the ground. She shrieked in surprise and gripped her whip tightly in her hand, but Cersei kicked the weapon away from her, leaving her with only her knife. Cersei pressed the tip of her sword to her chin. 

_I should run her through,_ she thought, Jaime and Brienne’s grunts underscoring her thoughts. _I should kill her and leave her blood dripping on the stones for even laying a hand on her._

“Mother,” Myrcella said, her voice shaky. “Don’t kill her. I don’t understand what’s going on, or why you’re here, but - please. No one has to die.” She sounded so rational despite the clear distress she was under. 

Cersei’s eyes flickered to her daughter, and the Sand Snake used that momentary weakness to wrap one arm around her ankle and pull her to the ground. Cersei shrieked as she was knocked down, using her hands to break the fall but still hit hard by the impact. Her sword was a few metres away from her now, but trying to get it would be useless.

The girl stood over her as she struggled to get to her feet. 

“You heard what the princess said,” Cersei said. “No one has to die.”

“We do not tolerate Lannisters in-”

“Drop your weapons!” 

Cersei looked up as a dozen guards swarmed into the gardens and surrounded them. Myrcella extended a hand and pulled her to her feet, clasping onto her tightly. 

“The Lannisters came here uninvited,” the girl Jaime had been fighting said. Jaime looked completely worn out: Cersei felt a twinge of guilt at leaving him alone to fight her, but she’d done what needed to be done to protect her daughter.

“I do not care.” The man did not move from where he was standing. “All of you. Drop your weapons. Now.”

There was a collective sigh and the clanging of metal to the ground. Cersei slowly let go of her daughter’s hand and walked over to where Jaime and Brienne were standing, still surrounded by guards. 

“Are you all right?” Brienne asked. 

Cersei nodded. “I’ll be fine. Sorry for abandoning both of you back there.”

The man Cersei could only assume was the captain of the guard looked the three of them up and down. “So it’s true. The Lannisters _are_ in Dorne.” His gaze fell on Brienne. “And who are you?”

“I am Brienne of Tarth,” she said, her voice rough and angry from fighting. “I mean you no harm by coming here, and neither do my companions. There has been a simple misunderstanding, which we-” 

“Your companions?” One of the Sand Snakes scoffed. “Your _companions._ The Lannister twins. You know what they get up to, then? You know the truth about them and their-”

“Shut up, you insolent little _whore,”_ Cersei spat, “or I’ll-”

“Cersei, no,” Jaime said warningly. “Not now. Not here.” 

_Not in front of Myrcella._

Cersei huffed, but she conceded. 

“Take them,” the man said. “The Sand Snakes too.”

“What-” Two guards came up behind Cersei and grabbed her. She railed against their grip, desperately trying to shove them off her. “Unhand me right now. I am the-”

The word melted on her tongue. _I am the queen._ But she wasn’t, anymore.

 _My sword,_ she thought, regret wrenching through her stomach. _Brienne gave it to me. I need it back._

“Take them inside,” he said. The guards shoved the three of them forwards, and Cersei did her best to drag her feet and resist them, but it was no use.

She turned her head around, craning her neck to make eye contact with a horrified Myrcella before she was pulled away.

So much for not drawing attention to themselves. 

**Sansa**

She and Margaery had not arrived at the trial together. The comments from the Sparrows had been enough to drive them apart, and she slid into the small room a few minutes after Margaery had told her she would be there. 

No one looked at her as she quietly sat down at the back. 

Loras wasn’t at the stand, not yet. There was a woman sitting there, dressed in the garb of a handmaiden (or a whore, perhaps, Sansa realised) and trembling with fear under the High Sparrow’s gaze. 

What was a whore doing here? Surely if the High Sparrow was going to arrest one of them, he would arrest all of them, and wouldn’t need to carry out individual questioning. 

“Thank you, Nadya, for agreeing to be here with us today,” the Sparrow said. Sansa could smell his stench from all the way across the room. “In exchange for information, you will be pardoned of your crimes.”

The girl nodded nervously. 

“We have reason to believe that Cersei of the house Lannister has violated the laws of gods and men.”

Sansa scoffed, and all eyes flickered towards her. She immediately shrank back against the wall. 

So Cersei was finally going to be punished for her crimes. But what did this girl have to do with her?

“Is this true? Did the Queen Mother lie with you?”

“What?” It was Margaery’s turn to draw the attention of everyone in the room, seemingly unable to control her surprise. 

That couldn’t be true. Cersei hated all other women, she’d made that clear several times. She would hardly want to lie with one. 

“Yes, Your Holiness,” Nadya said. “She came to the brothel under a false name, but her accounts were marked down in the records.”

“And what did she do to you?”

“Oh, please,” Olenna said. “Spare us the details. If you’re going to incriminate the Queen Mother, take this evidence and go. We don’t need to hear-”

“Silence.” Sansa could see Olenna fuming, but she shut her mouth anyway at the High Sparrow’s command. “Go on.”

Nadya flushed red. “She...she took me to one of the rooms, and she asked me if I’d ever lain with a woman before. I said no, and she said she hadn’t either.” Her voice was little more than a whimper. “Then she - she put her fingers inside me.”

Second-hand embarrassment curdled Sansa’s stomach. She glanced over at Tommen, waiting for him to have some outraged reaction at the slander against his mother. Nothing. 

The Sparrow nodded. “Thank you for your honesty. It stands to reason, then, that the Queen Mother is guilty of sexual perversion without question. I understand that she is currently on a diplomatic visit to Dorne, but once she returns we will deliver justice to her as we see fit.”

So this was what they were going to arrest Cersei for? Not incest, not treason, but...loving other women? Sansa had never expected to feel sympathy for her, but she couldn’t help it. This wasn’t right. And it only meant that the Sparrows would be ever closer to her and Margaery. 

“Tommen,” Margaery muttered. “Tommen-”

Sansa couldn’t see his face very well from where she was, but his tone of voice implied disgust. “No one is exempt from the justice of the gods. I wish it didn’t have to come to this, but if this is true, then I can’t disagree with his decision.”

“I now call Queen Margaery to the stand.”

“What?” 

“We have some questions for you.”

“I am the queen.”

“We know this. But as we have just seen, no one is exempt from the will of the gods. Come forwards.”

Margaery huffed, and rose from her seat. Her expression was placid, but as her eyes ran over Sansa, she could tell how terrified she was. 

Sansa nodded solemnly, as if that would bring her any comfort.

“How do you respond to the charges against your brother?”

“They are lies.”

“You would swear that in the presence of the gods?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Your Grace. That will be all.”

Margaery’s eyes darted around as she got up. No, this was too easy. This had to be some kind of trick or trap or -

The door behind the High Sparrow opened, and a man dressed in squires’ clothes walked out. His face looked familiar, somehow, and Sansa tried to remember where she’d seen him. 

_Oh. Oh, no, no, this is definitely a trap._

It was Olyvar. The man she and Margaery had caught Loras with all those weeks ago. 

“You know this man?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Very well. He is Ser Loras Tyrell, heir to Highgarden.”

“How did you meet him?”

“I squired for him. He took a liking to me…”

Their conversation faded in and out of Sansa’s conscience. Olyvar must have been a spy for the Faith all along. It all made sense now, the ease with which they had been able to arrest him, how unfazed he had seemed when they walked in on him and yet how quickly he had wanted to get out of there. 

Almost like he wanted someone to walk in on them. 

Sansa’s entire body went cold with fear. He had seen her and Margaery walk in, and Margaery had just denied knowing anything about her brother’s inclinations. Of course it was this easy. They had been tricked into attending his trial, into thinking this was some act of defiance when really they were giving the Sparrows exactly what they wanted. 

Every nerve in her body screamed out to do something, to warn Margaery, but she couldn’t. 

“Queen Margaery walked in on us, once. And her friend, Sansa Stark. She didn’t seem too surprised.”

Sansa swallowed nervously, selfishly grateful that all eyes had fallen on Margaery and not her.

“Do you deny this, Your Grace?”

“O - of course.” Margaery shook her head. “I never-”

“He has a birthmark,” Olyvar said. “Quite high on his thigh, wine-coloured and roughly the shape of Dorne. The queen is lying.”

Sansa could see the sick satisfaction in the High Sparrow’s eyes at Margaery’s lies. He had evidence, now, that she was lying, and they would be arrested for perjury. She, Margaery and Loras would be thrown into prison, and the Faith would be allowed to rise higher and higher. 

_But I haven’t denied it. They don’t think I’ve lied in front of the gods._

A nervous lump rose in her throat as she made her decision. 

_Margaery, my love, forgive me for what I’m about to do._

She stood up.

“It’s true!” she shouted. Margaery’s head whipped around, and if looks could kill, Sansa would have died right there. 

“You admit that you walked in on their...intimate relations?”

“Y - yes.” Sansa nodded, doing her best to play the guilt-ridden woman. 

The High Sparrow nodded, and Loras lunged at Olyvar. He was caught by several of the Sparrows, his flailing body dragged through the door. 

Margaery and Olenna surged to their feet, but they were stopped in their tracks. 

“Let us pass.”

“There is enough evidence for a formal trial to be had. For Ser Loras, and for Queen Margaery.”

“What?”

So her suspicions had been correct. This was the hand they had been playing all along, trying to coax Margaery into their trap.

“Bearing false witness against the gods is as grave a sin as any. Take her.”

As the Sparrows surged forwards and grabbed her, Margaery once again turned to look at Sansa. She could have cried at how betrayed she looked, wanted nothing more to reach out and shove those fanatics off her and take her back to her room and never let her go. 

But that was what they wanted. And she had to stay out of their clutches if she ever wanted to see the woman she loved again. You couldn’t put a fire out from inside the house. 

So Sansa stood there, completely still, willing the tears not to fall from her eyes. 

“Tommen! Tommen, do something! I am the queen!” Her eyes seared into Sansa’s. “Sansa. Sansa, please. Don’t let them do this.”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa mouthed helplessly.

_Please forgive me. Be patient. I’m coming for you. I won’t let it end like this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, feedback and thoughts would be appreciated :)


	18. Confinement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Held captive in Dorne, Jaime, Cersei and Brienne are forced to rethink their plan, and an inconvenient discovery on Ellaria's part only serves to make that more difficult. Meanwhile, Margaery reels from Sansa's betrayal.

**Jaime**

At least they hadn’t been shoved into a cell. 

Upon arresting them, the Martells must have decided that it would sit badly to put the Queen Mother and the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard in prison, so they’d confined them to one of their guest quarters. Mercifully, they’d decided to confine Brienne there with them as well. Jaime wasn’t sure he would have been able to remain calm without her presence. 

“I’m so sorry it didn’t work out the way we thought it would,” Brienne said. “But we cannot give up now. We need to keep trying.”

Jaime smiled, a sad, half-smile, and squeezed her hand. “I know. I just - Cersei, will you stop  _ pacing?” _

If Brienne’s presence was calming, Jaime was sure that Cersei would have gone completely mad without her there. She’d been walking around the table in the middle of the room for who knew how long, wringing her hands so hard Jaime was sure she was going to rip them off. 

She scoffed. “They refuse to let me speak to my daughter, they  _ attack  _ us out in the open, they have the nerve to treat us like common criminals and put us in a cell-”

“This is not a cell!” Brienne said. 

“There are bars on the window!” Cersei flung a hand to the offending window. Well, she wasn’t wrong. 

Brienne sighed. She loved Cersei dearly, Jaime knew that, but it seemed that she was finally learning what Jaime had meant when he’d said she was  _ a lot.  _ Not that it wasn’t justified, given the situation. 

Well.  _ Somewhat  _ justified.

“They knew about us coming,” Cersei said, the revelation seemingly coming to her. “They expected us to be here, and they sent the Sand Snakes after us.”

The knowledge hung in the air for a moment, waiting for someone to reach out and grab onto it. 

“The  _ merchant!”  _ Jaime almost kicked himself. 

“You think that bag of gold wasn’t enough to shut him up?” Brienne asked. “I mean, it was a very hefty bag.”   


“He might have been captured,” Jaime offered. “Tortured for information.”

Cersei gritted her teeth. “And now we’ll never know. And we’ll never get that gold back.”

“Come and sit  _ down,”  _ Brienne said. “Please. All you’re doing is working yourself up.”

Jaime half expected Cersei to go off at Brienne for that comment, to half-screech that she was perfectly calm, thank you very much, but instead she just gripped the edge of the table and exhaled slowly. 

“I’m  _ sorry,”  _ she said, sounding pained. “I just - we came all this way, and we had her. We really had her for a moment, and then-”

“Sit,” Jaime said. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Don’t you bark orders at me.”

“No comment,” Brienne said drily. 

Jaime couldn’t restrain a snort. “Brienne!” 

Still, Cersei came and sat next to them, the three of them cramped in the little window seat. 

“Come on,” Brienne said. “Both of you, calm down.”

She was right. Jaime was, honestly, just as stressed as Cersei was: it was just manifesting differently. While Cersei exploded with anger and fear, he felt more like he was  _ im _ ploding, his hand shaky in Brienne’s grip. 

Her other hand reached out to clasp Cersei’s, and she brought the two of them together in her lap.

“We’re going to get Myrcella back,” she said. “And we might have fucked it up now, but we’re still here, and we’re not dead yet, and that means we can keep trying.”

“You’re very optimistic,” Jaime noted. 

“Someone has to be,” she said. Her hair glistened rather distractingly in the sunlight. Jaime wanted to reach out and stroke it, but his good hand was in hers, and he imagined she’d feel rather awkward with a piece of metal ruffling through her hair. 

Brienne must have picked up on the look in her eyes, because she raised her eyebrows. “Were you even listening to me?”

“Of course,” Jaime said, grinning. “I listen to every word you say.”

Cersei scoffed. “That doesn’t mean he’s taking it in.”

“You’re one to talk,” Brienne retorted. 

“Can we help it?” Cersei almost purred. “You are so distracting.”

“Am I?” Brienne said.

Jaime’s cock twitched in his breeches.  _ Shut up,  _ he thought absurdly. 

“Well, then,” Brienne continued. “If we’re going to be here for a while, and the Martells haven’t quite figured out what to do with us yet...”

“Are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?” Jaime said, leaning in to mutter the accusation into her ear. She gasped a little. 

“And what if I am?” she said teasingly. 

She removed her hand from his, and for a second his heart dropped. However, she quickly moved it to the front of his breeches, and began to palm him through it, so he couldn’t really complain. 

A grunt escaped him, which was embarrassing, but he couldn’t help it. 

“Needy,” Brienne said, smirking out of the corner of his eye. 

“You,” Cersei said, disconnecting her own hand, “are quite the hypocrite.” 

She hiked up Brienne’s tunic, her fingers dancing towards the meeting of her thighs, and Brienne keened into her touch.

“Oh,” Cersei half-chuckled. “ _ Definitely _ a hypocrite. All this, just for us?”

Brienne desperately moved her hand towards the laces on Jaime’s breeches, just as desperate to undo them as Jaime was desperate to have them undone. 

“Stupid -  _ mmh -  _ Dornish overcoat,” she said, her voice getting higher as Cersei’s hand worked under her breeches. “So heavy. Let me just-”

It was at that precise moment when what couldn’t possibly be the most shameful moment of Jaime’s life, but maybe third or fourth down on the list, happened. 

It was a good thing Brienne heard his footsteps coming. She kicked Cersei’s hand off her and smoothed down her clothes in one short, sharp motion, as if she had been struck by lightning. 

“What-” Jaime hastily went to cover his very obvious erection as Areo Hotah, the captain of the Dornish guard, walked into the room. With Myrcella in tow. 

Why did this keep happening to him? Had the gods placed some curse upon him and made it so that he was destined to be interrupted or walked in on every time he even tried to have sex?

The three of them sat up rigidly and did their best to spread out on the seat, definitely looking like they’d just been caught in the act. Jaime inwardly cringed as he saw Cersei wipe her hand on their seat out of the corner of his eye. 

“Prince Doran hopes this satisfies your concerns about the princess’ wellbeing,” he said. He gave the three of them a dirty look as he walked away - had he picked up on what they’d been doing?

“Myrcella,” Cersei breathed. She darted forwards to wrap her daughter in a hug - a noticeably one-armed hug, that was. 

“I missed you.” Without Trystane around, Myrcella was much more receptive to her mother’s affections.

Jaime hadn’t even realised he was getting to his feet until he was halfway across the room and joining them in the embrace, squishing Myrcella between them.

“Uncle Jaime,” she said, and that stung a little, but he brushed it off. Whatever he was to her, it was comforting to have her in his arms again, and to know that she was well. 

She pulled out of the hug and stared up at Cersei. “You were wearing men’s clothes - and you had a sword! Where did you learn to fight like that?”

Jaime and Cersei both looked at Brienne. 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s...that’s where I come in.”   


“Myrcella, I’d like you to meet Brienne. She’s a...very good friend of your mother and I.”

If Myrcella had noticed what they were doing before, she didn’t show it. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Myrcella.” 

“All good things, I hope?”

“Oh, of course.”

Myrcella beamed. “It’s lovely to meet you, Lady Brienne. You’re a warrior, too?”

Brienne nodded. “It’s not quite as accepted back home as it is here. Though I expect you know that.”

“Tyene and Nymeria tried to teach me once, but I don’t think it’s for me. But you were so impressive back there, I might have to give it another try.”

Jaime grinned. He had been right, then: Myrcella had taken an immediate liking to Brienne. 

She turned around. “But as lovely as it is to see you, I’m still not sure what you’re doing here.”

_ Ah.  _ And the conversation had been going so well. He glanced at Brienne, then at Cersei -  _ maybe I should take this one?  _

“We’ve been...worried about you. Threats have been made. We know you like it here, but Dorne is too dangerous for you.”

Myrcella frowned. “You want me to leave?”

“We want you to come home-” Cersei went to grab her daughter’s hand, but she pulled it away. 

“This is my home.” Cersei’s lips thinned behind her. “This has been my home for years.”

Jaime looked over at Brienne. She looked completely overwhelmed and unsure of her place in this conversation, shrinking back into the window seat. 

“We know that,” he said. “But-”

“I didn’t even want to come here, and now you’re telling me to go back?” She took a few steps back. “No.”

“You don’t understand.” Cersei’s voice had taken on that angry edge it so often did. “This is a complicated situation, I can’t expect you to-”

“I’m not  _ stupid.  _ Just because I’m young and I’m a girl, doesn’t mean I don’t understand how politics work. Explain it to me. Go on.”

Cersei shook her head. “Come home with us, Myrcella. Come back to King’s Landing and we can-”

“I’m not going home. I’m staying here. I love Trystane and I’m going to marry him, and we’re staying right here.”

“You don’t know what you want-”

“I know perfectly well what I want!” Myrcella and Cersei were facing each other directly now, Jaime halfway forgotten. “You just want me to want the same as you. But I don’t. And I’m staying here.”

She turned and walked away, her dress trailing behind her.  _ She’s every bit as stubborn as her mother,  _ Jaime thought with a pang.

“I will not stand for this.” Cersei was wringing her hands again. “I will not-”

“Cersei, leave it,” Brienne said. “Give her time.” 

This time, the calming effect didn’t seem to be working. 

“Fuck that,” Cersei said, and went to walk out of the room. 

“Cersei!” Jaime stepped between her and the door. “Don’t be so rash. Like Brienne said-”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She shoved him aside and stormed after her daughter. Jaime watched her leave listlessly. 

“Shit,” Brienne said, slowly standing up. “Should we…”

They both glanced towards the door. 

“Maybe we should leave it,” she said decisively. “Cersei’s worked up enough already. If she won’t give Myrcella time, we can at least try to give both of them time.”

**Margaery** ****

She couldn’t cry anymore. 

When they had first thrown her into the cell, her tears had flown freely, until she was sure they would fill the room and drown her. But her eyes had all dried up now, and every time she tried to sob, all that came out was a pathetic, scratchy wail. 

Her tongue felt like sandpaper, rough on the inside of her mouth. She had no idea how long it had been, how long she had gone without water or food or even sleep. She’d certainly tried to sleep, but the discomfort in her body stopped her and left her head spinning with exhaustion that she couldn’t get rid of. 

And yet, the aching and the dryness were little more than pinpricks in her side compared to the agonising wound Sansa’s betrayal had left. She had really loved her, Margaery realised, more than she ever could have understood at the time. Those fleeting moments with her had coloured her world, but looking back on them now those colours faded into a black stain that she would never be able to get out. 

Had she been trying to bring her down this entire time? She had often said that Margaery was the only person in the capital she’d trusted, but had that been a lie? Was this some ploy to get her out of the way so that she could escape back North? 

Her thoughts were interrupted by the cell door creaking open. 

“You have five minutes,” the rough voice of the Sparrow guarding her cell said. 

“Well,” her visitor said, and Margaery suppressed a grunt.  _ Sansa.  _ “Look at you.” 

She shut the door behind her, and closed the latch. 

“What do you want?” Margaery said weakly. 

Sansa stood in the doorway for a second, as if waiting for something. Then, she practically flung herself at Margaery, taking her in her arms. 

“I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m - they haven’t fed you, look at you, your  _ hair -  _ I’m-”

Margaery shoved her away with what little strength she had left in her body, and Sansa hit the floor with a thud. 

“What the fuck have you done?” she screeched. “You hateful  _ bitch-” _

“Margaery, listen to me,” Sansa said. “It was the only thing I could do.” She sounded like she was panicking, scrambling to create a pathetic excuse. 

“The only thing you could do was betray me? Is that it?” Margaery huffed. “You know, Sansa, I really thought I could trust you. But you only care about yourself, I see that now.”

“I know! I know, it looks terrible, and you have every right to be angry at me, but just...just listen. Please. If I hadn’t stood up for myself, they would have thrown us both in prison, and we would have had no hope. I had to keep myself out...so that I could get you and Loras out too.” Her voice was quiet now, little more than a whisper. “It killed me, it really did, but it was the only way I could protect you. If we’re going to fix this together, one of us needs to be on the outside.”

Her words took a while to settle inside Margaery’s head, her brain still foggy from dehydration and lack of sleep. Sansa watched her nervously as she took them in, her blue eyes strangely luminous in the dark. 

“You were trying to protect me?” Margaery shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense-”

But it...did. Somehow. 

“I’m going to get you out of here,” Sansa said decisively. “Loras, too. But to do that, I couldn’t be locked up with you. Please, please tell me you understand.”

Relief slowly flooded through Margaery as Sansa’s words finally began to make sense. She hadn’t betrayed her after all. 

“How are you going to do that?” she said hopelessly. 

“I don’t know,” Sansa said. “But the High Sparrow thinks I really have betrayed you, and that’s the important thing,”

Margaery gripped the wall and tried to bring herself to her feet. 

Sansa helped her up. “Here. There you go. Don’t-”

Margaery practically hurled herself forwards to kiss Sansa. The second her lips touched hers, she pulled away, suddenly feeling stupid. 

“Sorry,” Margaery said. “I’m disgusting right now, I shouldn’t have-”

“I don’t care,” Sansa said, and leaned in again. “You’re still beautiful.”

Margaery’s breath hitched as Sansa’s lips met hers, as her tongue slipped gently inside her mouth. 

“We can’t,” she breathed. “This is too risky - they’re right outside.”

“I know,” Sansa said. “We need to make them think I’ve still betrayed you.”   


“Slap me,” Margaery said. 

“ _ What?” _

“Just do it.”

“Um,” Sansa said, but she complied. She slapped Margaery on her cheek, and it didn’t particularly hurt, but Margaery cried out anyway as if she had just been stabbed. 

“All right,” Margaery whispered. “You…” She raised her voice to a screech again. “Get out of here, you hateful bitch!” 

Sansa raised her eyebrows playfully, as if to say,  _ that’s the best you’ve got? _

Margaery huffed. “You just came here to gloat, didn’t you? I always knew I couldn’t trust you, you...fucking...Northern whore-  _ sorry, I’m so sorry- _ ”

“It’s fine,” Sansa mouthed. “Well, you were right. I hope you fucking rot in here, you traitor.” She leaned forwards, and pressed a kiss to Margaery’s cheek. “I can’t stand the sight of you any longer.”

She leaned in to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to get you out of here. Wait for me.”   


On that note, she stormed out, flinging the door open and slamming it shut behind her, the noise echoing throughout the cell. 

Margaery slid back down the wall, smiling deliriously despite the dampness against her back. 

**Cersei**

Cersei stormed down the corridor, not even sure where she was going or where Myrcella would be, but it didn’t matter. Anger was fueling her, and it would take her exactly where she needed to go. 

Her daughter didn’t know what she was doing. She was young, and stupid, and -

_ Don’t call Myrcella stupid.  _

But she was. Cersei had been eighteen once, blinded by love and inexperience, and she and Jaime had followed their hearts, and  _ look where it got us.  _ Myrcella didn’t know what she really wanted, what would actually be good for her. Cersei would be able to talk to her, properly this time, and show her that she didn’t need to be here in this awful, strange country, and that she would be much happier at home -

“Cersei Lannister.” The drawling Dornish tones from behind her made Cersei stop in her tracks. She clenched her fists: there could be no more fighting, no matter how much she wanted to rip Ellaria Sand’s throat out. 

“Ellaria,” she seethed, turning around slowly. 

“I thought we had confined you to your quarters. Our guards must have fallen down on the job.”

“I wish to speak to my daughter.”

“You have just spoken with your daughter!”

“Properly, this time. She doesn’t understand the complexity of the situation-”

Ellaria stepped closer to her, as if testing her. “I know this is difficult for you to understand, but Myrcella is happy here in Dorne. She won’t come home for you at your beck and call like a dog would.”

She looked Cersei up and down. “I have to say, I was surprised to see you here at all, much less in breeches and wielding a sword.”

“Lots of people seem surprised to see that.” Her nails were digging into her palms. “And I thought you were so accepting here in Dorne.”   


“We are. But you?” She cocked her head. “Tell me, Cersei. Do you remember that offer I made you, back in King’s Landing? It seems so long ago, now.”

“I hardly remember-”

“No, I know you do. And I remember exactly what Oberyn had to say about you, as well.” She smiled to herself insufferably, laughing at her own joke. 

“Yes, well, Oberyn is dead now.” She hadn’t needed to bring it up. She’d only mentioned it to watch Ellaria’s smug smile fall off her face.

She shook her head. “You Lannisters think you’re so much better than us, don’t you? Don’t think we don’t know what you say about us here in Dorne. But you’re no different. Especially not with...what’s her name? Brienne?”

“Shut up.”

“Are you still hopelessly in love with her?”

“What’s it to you?” Ellaria was just trying to make her angry, and it was working. She opened her mouth to tell her that,  _ no,  _ she wasn’t  _ hopelessly  _ in love with her, because they were actually together now, thank you very much. But while Ellaria might not have thought much of their relationship, she could certainly pass that information on to someone who would.

“You’re brave, coming here. Not just because everyone hates you here, but with your brother, Cersei? I take it you know what people say about the two of you-” Cersei opened her mouth - “and I’m not interested in hearing your lies. You know, I thought you would have learned to be more careful.”

Ellaria was looking expectantly at Cersei, like she was waiting for the penny to drop. 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

“Princess Myrcella might be young and innocent, but Areo Hotah is certainly not. He saw what you were doing. You, and your brother, and Brienne.”

Terror curdled Cersei’s stomach.  _ Fuck.  _ They should have been more careful. Every step of the way on this miserable excursion, they should have taken more care, covered their tracks better. 

“I can hardly say I was surprised when he told me. Oberyn was certain you were enamoured with her, and yet she and Jaime seemed so happy together. It’s a rather convenient arrangement, isn’t it? Inviting her along to your...trysts.” She gritted her teeth. “Tell me again how degenerate and perverted we are in Dorne. It’s only bad when it’s convenient for you, isn’t it?”

_ It’s not us inviting her to our trysts - there are no trysts, not between me and Jaime, it’s just Brienne loving both of us at once in equal measures and us finding our own place within that relationship -  _ Cersei clenched her jaw. The technicalities of their relationship didn’t matter, not to Ellaria, and not to anyone who could take that evidence and use it to destroy their lives. Whether or not she and Jaime were still together was irrelevant, and that hurt her a little, because they’d managed to overcome something that had pervaded their whole lives and no one could even know. 

Why was she thinking about that now? She didn’t care what Ellaria, of all people, thought of her relationships. 

Except when she could hold it over her and make her bargain for her life. 

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone,” she seethed, her voice hitching a little out of fear, “I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Ellaria looked almost gleeful, and Cersei could hardly restrain herself from reaching out and choking her to death. “Enlighten me, Cersei.”

Cersei exhaled slowly. “You know why  _ we _ came here?” A foolish idea sparked in her head, but it was all she had. “We could have sent an army, sent them tearing through these halls to get my daughter back. But we didn’t. We came here ourselves, to make a diplomatic effort. I know that might be a difficult thing for you to understand, after sending your brood of bastards after us the second we set foot here, but I know you don’t want a war. Dorne isn’t ready for a war-”

“Neither is the crown.”

Cersei laughed, hoping it came off as smug and knowing and not fearful.

“So you’ll start a war to protect one piece of information? Is that it? I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t know what I’m willing to do.” Ellaria shrank back a little. “Tell me, what would you do, to protect your daughters? Because I would do anything,  _ anything,  _ to protect Myrcella. I would burn cities to the ground, I would lay waste to thousands of people if it meant she would be safe. I know you would do the same. So if I were you, I wouldn’t take your chances.”

Ellaria pursed her lips in what Cersei hoped was frustration. 

“Well?”

“Guard?” Ellaria called sharply. “Escort Cersei Lannister back to her quarters.” She put emphasis on her name, as if making a point of telling the guard exactly who she was.  _ Let him know. Let them all be disgusted, I don’t care.  _

“If she tries to escape, take the tall blonde woman and throw her in a cell.”

That was exactly the problem. She had spent so long convincing herself that she didn’t care, but now she actually had to do so, she wasn’t quite sure how to respond. 

“You’ve made your point, Cersei. Go back willingly, and if you try anything - anything at all - we will not hesitate to kill you.”

The guard shoved Cersei forwards unceremoniously, and she began to walk forwards -  _ with her tail between her legs,  _ she thought mirthfully,  _ trailing back to where I came from. _

Still, she kept her head up and shot Ellaria a withering look. Even if she didn’t have the upper hand, she could make Ellaria believe she was as smug and fearless as ever. Even if she had to clench her fist again to stop her hands from trembling. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again for reading!


	19. The Illusion of Clarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the wake of a dispute, Cersei, Brienne and Jaime are summoned to see Prince Doran, with whom they finally come to an agreement. (Or so it seems.)

**Cersei**

The darkness outside was just starting to lift, and Cersei hadn’t slept yet. She’d almost felt a sense of achievement back on the boat, when her sleep had been improving and she hadn’t been troubled by bad dreams, but now her sleeplessness was back with a vengeance. 

Jaime and Brienne had hardly spoken to her the night before, after she’d been escorted back to their quarters. Her rash behaviour seemed to have put her in their bad books, and the budding sense of camaraderie had been further quashed by the revelation that Ellaria knew about their relationship. 

Jaime’s anger she could deal with, was perfectly accustomed to, just as he was with her. In fact, the situation was far better than their previous arguments, when family disputes and lover’s quarrels merged together in the most unseemly way and resulted in a strange double-argument which couldn’t be resolved properly. 

But Brienne? Having Brienne seem properly angry with her, having those blue eyes stare at her with contempt? That killed her. She had usually been so understanding, willing to talk her down when she got like this, but she must have crossed some imperceptible line yesterday. 

She opened her eyes in frustration, still not asleep. The restless energy in the room was swirling around her, causing an incessant hum in her mind. 

At least they were in separate beds this time. Otherwise, Cersei would certainly have been sleeping on the floor. 

A rustling sound came from her left, Brienne kicking the light Dornish sheets off her. 

“Can’t sleep either?” she said, then bit the inside of her cheek. In her delirium, she had almost forgotten about their rift. 

“No,” Brienne huffed. “It’s too hot.”

She sounded hazily half-asleep, irritated but not infuriated. 

_ Maybe if I try to talk to her now, her guard will be down, and she’ll be more receptive.  _

“Are you angry at me?”

“Yes.”

Oh. So much for _ receptive _ . 

“...Alright,” Cersei said tentatively. “I’m sorry. I - I shouldn’t have stormed out like that. It was stupid, and I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Brienne was silent for a moment, as if thinking her statement over. 

“Come here,” she said. 

“What?”

“Come and sit here.” She patted the space next to her in her bed. “If we’re going to have this conversation, I want to do it properly.”

Cersei had no idea what she was getting at, but she got up anyway, wiping a thin sheen of sweat from her brow. The Dornish nights were hot, even more so than in King’s Landing, and that had hardly helped her restlessness. 

Brienne shuffled a little to the side, looking slightly more awake now, and Cersei got under the covers with her. At first, she hesitated to get too close to her, but when Brienne tilted her head to fit on top of hers, she couldn’t help but nestle her head into the freckled expanse of skin on her shoulder. 

“I understand why you did what you did,” Brienne said. “I know it was difficult to hear that from Myrcella, and we were all disappointed. But you do need to start thinking more rationally. I - I try so hard to understand why you do what you do, and I know that you haven’t exactly had it easy in the past, but - I don’t know. Am I making any sense?”

A part of Cersei didn’t want to hear what she had to say, to get out of bed and storm back to her own, knowing that what she’d done had been perfectly reasonable and that Brienne was just being ridiculous, anger boiling in her stomach. 

But that was exactly the point Brienne was trying to make. And deep down, Cersei knew she was right. 

“Go on,” she said. 

“I mean, actually apologising is something in itself. It’s not even what you did in particular yesterday, it’s just...what it means, if that makes sense.”   


“You’ve been thinking about this for a while, haven’t you?” She was suddenly conscious of how loud their voices were in the fading darkness. 

Brienne nodded. “I do what I can to talk you down, but I just need you to take responsibility for your own actions. Can you do that?”

“I can try. As long as you don’t keep things like this from me anymore.”

Brienne breathed what almost seemed like a sigh of relief. “I was just worried that you’d go off on one. You are - you can be very volatile, Cersei, you know that?”

She scoffed. “I know  _ that.  _ And it’s not your job to keep me in check.”   


“Whatsgoingon?” Jaime muttered blearily. As per usual, he hadn’t been awoken. Cersei almost envied him. 

“Come here, Jaime,” Brienne said. “Cersei and I have just been...talking.”

“Ah.” He seemed to be coming to his senses now, fully awake. “Talking as in...talking, or-”

“About what happened last night.” Brienne shuffled herself further over, pushing Cersei closer to the edge of the bed. “Come on.”   


Jaime chuckled, and walked over slowly, in that dazed half-asleep way you do in the dark. He practically flung himself at the bed, which almost pushed Cersei over the edge.

“Do you mind?” she said. 

“It’s bigger than the bed we had on the boat,” he remarked. 

She rolled her eyes. “You couldn’t fall out of that one, it was on the floor.”

Brienne scoffed. “Will you stop  _ squabbling _ .”

Cersei sighed, and nestled her head back into Brienne’s shoulder. Jaime did the same, on the other side, and their heads almost met in the middle. 

“Ellaria knows about our relationship,” Cersei said, more to herself than to anyone else. She’d already told them about it last night, but the memory came flooding back to her as she cosied up to Brienne. 

“Well, it was a nice moment while it lasted.”

“Sorry. That doesn’t help.”

“Well, if anyone walks in right now, it won’t help either,” Brienne remarked. “They already know. And by the sound of it, you managed to do something useful with your outburst, Cersei.”

Cersei nodded. “I suppose there’s very little we can do now to make it worse. We’ve spent our whole lives lying and hiding to protect a relationship that wasn’t worth it. I don’t want to do the same for this one.”

She pressed a soft kiss to Brienne’s ear, and Brienne’s hand came up to both her and Jaime’s heads, snuggling them further into the warmth of her skin. 

Funnily enough, someone walking in on them like that didn’t make the situation any worse than it already was, but it certainly didn’t improve it, either. 

Being in each other’s arms must have helped them sleep, because it was at least midday by the time Areo Hotah once again walked into their room. 

“Oh, by the seven,” Cersei heard him say, though at the time she couldn’t quite comprehend who was speaking. “Not again. Hey! Lannisters!”

Brienne jolted upright next to her, as Cersei slowly opened her eyes. 

He stared at them for a few seconds, as if searching for the right words. Cersei glared at him, daring him to say something. 

“Oh…” He grunted. “Look. Get out of bed and come with me.”   


“Where to?” Brienne asked. 

“Your presence has been requested by Prince Doran Martell.”

“What does Prince Doran want with us?” Cersei nearly spat. 

Areo Hotah sighed, as if dealing with them was incredibly taxing. Which it probably was, or at least Cersei hoped it was. “Just follow me. I will not use force unless I have to, so don’t provoke me to.”

Cersei was getting rather sick of being herded around the Water Gardens with a weapon at her back. It would certainly not be the highlight of her trip she remembered once she got back home. If indeed they did make it home, which was looking more unlikely by the second. 

Areo Hotah had become no more receptive to questions: while all three of them had been entirely compliant and followed him through the corridors, Cersei had tried to get some information out of him, but he had been as stoic and silent as ever.

As they came to a stop outside the main hall, Jaime placed a defiant hand on Brienne’s waist, as if to say to the Martells  _ what are you going to do about this?  _

“Prince Doran,” Cersei said. 

“Forgive us,” he said. “We started without you.”

He wasn’t a particularly impressive man, Prince Doran, but he did seem as though he would be a little more reasonable than his cohorts. Ellaria Sand was also sat there, smug as ever, and a few of her daughters, and -

“Princess Myrcella,” Jaime said hastily, dropping his hand away from Brienne as if it had been burned. 

“Uncle,” she said, infuriatingly calm. “Mother.”

“What a lovely dress,” Jaime remarked. 

“You don’t like it?”

“You must be cold.”   


“Not at all. The Dornish climate agrees with me.”

Cersei clenched her teeth at that remark. “Forgive her, Jaime. She’s merely following the examples she’s been given.” Her eyes flickered pointedly over to one of Ellaria’s daughters, the little one with the short hair. “Out _ standing  _ as they are.”   


“Please, sit,” Doran said dismissively. The three of them sat down at the edge of the divan, not quite sure how much space was appropriate to put between them. 

“What are you doing in Dorne?” Ellaria said. 

“You know exactly what we’re doing in Dorne,” Cersei snapped. “We are looking after the safety of my daughter. Don’t act the fool with me, Ellaria.”

“Would it not have been easier to send a raven? Or even to speak to me directly? Why come here in secret?”

“Perhaps you do not know,” Cersei said, “that we are not the most popular family here in Dorne. We didn’t want to arouse anger.”

“And yet you have,” Ellaria said. 

“Ellaria,” Doran said warningly. “Let the Lannisters talk.”   


Their family name rolled off his tongue like it was a dirty word. 

“We received a threatening message,” Jaime said. “Myrcella’s necklace in the jaws of a viper.”

Myrcella gasped. “That necklace was stolen from my room!” 

_ Oh,  _ Cersei thought, as all eyes shifted towards Doran, and then slowly to his right towards Ellaria.  _ So there is something bigger going on here.  _ It was almost a relief, to get a hint of discontent among the Martells. 

A courtier placed three plates of food in front of them. 

“A last meal before the beheading?” Jaime said sardonically, cutting through the silence. 

“I can’t behead you,” Doran said, as if it was a pity. “Many in Dorne want war. But I’ve seen war. I’ve seen the bodies piled on the battlefields. I’ve seen orphans starving to death…”

As he spoke, Cersei’s eyes went to Ellaria. She was staring daggers at the prince, shaking her head slowly. 

“I will not lead my people into that hell.”   


“No, you want to break bread with the Lannisters.”

“That is precisely what we are doing.”   


A chuckle escaped Cersei’s mouth, and all eyes went to her. She quickly settled her expression. 

“Something funny?” Ellaria hissed. 

“Mm,” Cersei said noncommittally. She had no idea what she was getting at, but it was frustrating Ellaria, and that was something.

Her gaze shifted towards Brienne as the Martells exchanged glances, and she looked deeply uncomfortable. Perhaps they should have asked for her to stay in their quarters for this, since she’d hardly said a word since they got here. 

“Are you all right?” Cersei said to her. 

Brienne nodded, and gave a half-smile. “Fine.”

She was probably lying, but Cersei nodded appreciatively anyway, knowing she wouldn’t want to draw too much attention to herself now.

Doran sighed, and raised his cup of wine. “Let us drink, to Tommen, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.”

So they were going down the diplomatic route, then. Cersei lifted her glass and drank from it, and the second the wine hit her tongue she thought  _ fuck, when was the last time I drank?  _ It must have been before they’d set off for Dorne, and she hadn’t craved it as she usually did, hadn’t needed to dull her emotions that way, but she hadn’t realised how much she’d missed it, either, until she was setting down her cup on the table again. 

Jaime raised his eyebrows at her. He had only taken a sip. 

She rolled her eyes back at him. 

Ellaria picked up her cup, and slowly, glaring pointedly at the Lannisters, poured it out on the floor. 

“How mature,” Cersei said. “Once again setting an outstanding example for my daughter.”

“Who are you to question the example I set for the princess?” Ellaria said. 

Cersei clenched her teeth. “We are trying to have a civil conversation. I know that must be hard for you-”

“And it’s so easy for you, is it? Might I remind you that-”

“That’s enough,” Brienne snapped, “both of you.”

All heads snapped towards her. Prince Doran raised his eyebrows, seemingly shocked by her nerve to snap at them, especially since she had been so quiet. 

Cersei couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride. These people didn’t know anything about Brienne, didn’t know how strong or brave she was. 

“Anyway,” Doran said. “King Tommen insists on his sister’s return?”   


“He does,” Jaime said. Cersei had hardly heard him speak of Myrcella since his coronation, but the Martells weren’t to know that. 

“I cannot disobey my king’s command.”

Cersei fought for her expression to look placid, trying to mask the relief that was flooding over her. So they would be able to get Myrcella back after all? Regardless of her wishes?

“She will return with you, to King’s Landing. And my son, Trystane Martell.”   


_ Oh, no, not him.  _ She opened her mouth to protest, but then she saw Myrcella’s face. Her expression lit up, and she patted Trystane’s arm excitedly. 

Cersei sank back in her seat. As bitter as the taste the young Dornish prince left in her mouth was, he clearly made Myrcella happy. And what else could she want for her daughter? 

_ Perhaps when we get back, I can dissuade her from him. But until then… _

“If the alliance between Dorne and the Iron Throne is to continue, their engagement must stand.”

Jaime looked over at her, and raised his eyebrows, as if to say,  _ are you going to do anything about this? _

“Fine,” Cersei said. “We accept these terms.”

“One more thing.”   


_ What now? _

“My brother, Oberyn Martell, was named to the Small Council before his death. Your father understood the importance of keeping Dorne in the fold, and I trust that you understand the same. With Oberyn gone, Trystane will take his place.”

“You have my word,” Jaime said. “If these are your conditions, we accept.”   


“The word of a Kingslayer.” Ellaria looked over to Doran. “Are we to blindly believe that the Lannisters will accept your terms?”

“You-” Brienne spoke up, as if just trying to get everyone’s attention. When she’d seen that it worked, and all eyes were back on her, she exhaled and continued. “You have... _ my word.” _

“And whose word is that?” Doran asked. 

“I am Lady Brienne of House Tarth, my lord. I may not be a Lannister, but if my word will mean more to you, then I will give it. I will do everything in my power to ensure that your demands are met.”

“Brienne is the most honourable woman any of us will ever meet,” Jaime said. “If you will not heed me, you must heed her.”

“Did you not serve the Starks, once?” Ellaria said. “And Renly Baratheon, from what I hear. How can you claim to be so honourable?”

“You know, Ellaria, I thought the very same thing when I first met her.” Cersei hadn’t intended to say any more than that, but once she started, the words flew out of her, and she couldn’t stop. “I thought she just...flitted from camp to camp, serving whichever lord or lady was convenient for her. But I know Brienne, now, and I know that she never acts without reason. What she does, she does out of loyalty and honour, and if you cannot take her word, then you cannot take anyone’s.” She swallowed, realising how she must sound. 

Brienne looked at her in astonishment, but said nothing, clearly not wanting to give anything away. 

“Anyway,” Cersei said dismissively, suddenly uncomfortable with the level of vulnerability she had just shown. “We accept.”   


“Excellent,” Doran said. 

Ellaria surged to her feet. “It is no wonder you cannot stand,” she said to Doran. “You have no spine.”

Cersei restrained a scoff. 

Doran glared up at her. “You are mother to four of my nieces, girls I love very much. For their sake, I hope you live a long and happy life. Speak to me that way again, and you will not.”

Ellaria stormed out of the room, her cape billowing behind her.  _ Good riddance,  _ Cersei thought with a smirk. 

“I must apologise for Ellaria,” Doran said. “She never fully recovered from the death of her paramour. We all grieve for him, but some of us take longer to heal than others.”

“We’re sorry about Oberyn,” Jaime said. “He, um…” He looked between Cersei and Brienne. “He helped us, really, in ways that are difficult to explain, and we’re very grateful for that.”

Cersei thought it was an unnecessary show of vulnerability, but it was true for what it was worth. She hadn’t had a lot of time to think about that since they’d arrived in Dorne, but she really owed a lot of her happiness to Oberyn’s impact on her, and the openness and acceptance they had down here. 

It was almost a shame to be leaving so soon. Despite the heat and the awful people here, it was rather pleasant, and it could have been nice to stay a little while longer. In any other situation, it could have been a safe place for them. 

“So,” Myrcella said. “When will we leave?”

Doran looked over at Cersei. 

“Well, it would be ideal to leave as soon as possible,” she said abruptly. “But take your time to say goodbye, Myrcella.”

She looked more excited about the prospect now that Trystane was coming, and she nodded eagerly. “We could leave this evening?”

Cersei smiled. “This evening is fine.”

Myrcella beamed, and clutched Trystane’s hand. The motion made Cersei cringe a little, but she did her best to hide it. 

“It is settled, then.” Prince Doran stood up, and smiled politely at them. 

“Thank you for speaking to us and not just attacking us,” Jaime said. “I hope it sets a precedent for our future relations with Dorne.”

Doran nodded. “I hope so too.” He turned his attention to Areo Hotah. “Escort the Lannisters - and Lady Brienne - to their quarters. We will see them off before sundown.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! The next chapter might take a little longer to write because it's quite long (although I might just split it into two if it gets TOO too long). Also, I finally made a GOT/writing tumblr! It's claralannister just like my ao3.


	20. As Long As You're Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei and Jaime decide it's finally time to be honest with Myrcella as they make their way home, and Brienne finds her place within their family. Sansa is reluctantly forced to take help wherever she can get it.

**Cersei**

Cersei put her sword back in its sheath, grateful to have its heaviness back at her hip. After their encounter with the Sand Snakes out in the gardens, the Martells had confiscated their weapons and their belongings, but they’d been begrudgingly returned. She had no idea how the Martells trusted them enough not to run them through the second they let them go, but she wasn’t about to complain, and as tempting as the prospect was, it would be an act of war, and Myrcella would likely never forgive her. The latter being much more present in Cersei’s mind. 

“We should get you a proper sword when we get home,” Jaime said, not looking up from the bag of supplies he was checking over. 

“I already have a proper sword.”

“I mean one made for you. Brienne picked that one from the armoury, and while the weighting isn’t necessarily a problem for you, imagine what you could do with one better. It won’t be Valyrian steel, though, like mine.”

“I doubt I’ll be slaying any mythical creatures from beyond the Wall any time soon.”

Jaime scoffed. “Hopefully not. But the things you hear - Brienne?”

Cersei turned around to see Brienne, who was silently packing their other bag, seemingly deep in thought and not paying attention to either of them. 

“Brienne, are you all right?” He waved his hand. “Brienne?”

“What?” She perked her head up. “Oh, sorry. I was just…I know you’re both happy that we’re taking Myrcella home, and we succeeded, but…” She gestured vaguely. “Something doesn’t seem right.”

Cersei frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It feels too easy. Why spend all that time confining us and threatening us if it could all be solved with a simple conversation? And why is Ellaria taking this so well?”

“She didn’t exactly take it _well_ ,” Jaime said. “She stormed out and Doran threatened to kill her.”

“Yes, but when she heard we were coming, she sent the Sand Snakes after us. And now she’s just going to take it lying down and let us go, especially when she knows something that could tear us down? I don’t believe it for a second.”

Brienne was right. If there was one thing she knew about Ellaria, it was that she wasn’t the type to let something like this pass. And especially now that the Sand Snakes had been released from prison…

“You’re saying this is a trap?” Cersei said. 

“I’m saying it certainly could be.”

“So what do we do?” Jaime said. “I mean, it’s not like we can accuse them of tricking us. That’ll only make it worse, especially if you’re wrong - I mean, I don’t think you are wrong, but…”

“No, no, I know what you mean. We can’t let on that we suspect anything.” Brienne sighed in frustration. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll just have to be careful,” Cersei said decisively. “Watch what they do and not let our guard down until we’re far away from this miserable country.” She immediately took back what she’d earlier thought about Dorne: you couldn’t pay her to stay there one second longer than she had to. 

Brienne nodded. “Sorry. I know you’re probably already very...on edge.”

“Well, better to be on edge than to be dead,” Cersei said. She glanced out of the window, and the sun was lowering in the sky. “Perhaps we should make our way to the docks? I don’t know about you, but I can’t wait to get out of-”

“Actually,” Jaime said, “there is something I’ve been meaning to talk about. I didn’t want to bring it up, but…” He looked between Cersei and Brienne. “Can we sit down?”

Cersei nodded, perching herself on the edge of the bed. What could be so important that they had to sit down to talk about it?

 _He wants me out of our relationship_ , she thought suddenly. _He doesn’t want me with Brienne anymore._ Her stomach tightened. _This is it. They’re both sick of me._

“I…” Jaime stuttered a little. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to...I want to tell Myrcella the truth. About who her father is.”

_Oh._

Cersei didn’t even know how to respond. She blinked a few times, looking up at Jaime, trying to process even the concept of doing that. 

“Right,” he said. “I knew it was stupid. I’ll just-”

He went to stand up, but Brienne put a hand on his shoulder, and guided him back down. She looked at Cersei, as if asking for some incomprehensible permission. 

“Go on,” Cersei said sharply, still trying to wrap her head around the idea. “Please.”

Jaime exhaled, either with relief or out of nervousness. “I just - I think she has the right to know. She’s a smart girl, she’s not going to tell anybody, and I know it could put her at risk, but the longer we dance around it and we keep her from the truth...it doesn’t feel right. I don’t want her to find out some other way and feel betrayed, or assume things that aren’t true.” He looked at Cersei, eyes wide and full of concern. “What do you think?” 

Cersei was silent for another few seconds. She couldn’t even think coherently, Jaime’s words forming an indiscernible chatter in her mind. 

“Yes,” she said thoughtlessly. As she began to make sense of what he was saying, she realised how overwhelmingly _right_ he was. 

There was probably a part of him, too, that wanted Myrcella to look at him the same way she looked at Cersei, and to be able to be her actual father, but he just didn’t want to seem selfish. And it was selfish, but...she wanted that for him too. For them. And now that they weren’t even together anymore…

“Yes?” he said. 

“Yes,” she said. “I think it’s about time.”

She looked over at Brienne. She looked completely overwhelmed, not quite sure what to make of the conversation between them. 

“On one condition,” she said. 

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

Cersei took a deep breath. “We tell her about us as well. All of us. You, and Brienne, and me.”

Brienne’s eyes widened. “What?”

Cersei bit the inside of her cheek. She hadn’t even realised how much she’d wanted that, either, but the second the thought had come into her mind she knew they had to do it. “If we’re going to be honest with Myrcella, we have to be completely honest. About all of it. She deserves to know that, too.” 

Brienne’s eyes darted to the floor. “Hey,” Jaime said, catching her doubtful expression and taking her hand. “I - I think Cersei’s right, but if you’re not comfortable-”

“You would do that?” she said. 

“If you’ll let me,” Cersei said. “Myrcella likes you, you know. I want her to know how happy you make us.”

“But I’m...I’m not…” She shook her head. “This is about you. Your family. You don’t have to involve me.

“Brienne,” Jaime said. “You are as much a part of this family as any of us. That is, if you want to be.”

Brienne blinked wordlessly. “Of course I do.” Her voice was trembling. “I just didn’t think - it’s not as important-”

“Important?” Cersei said. “This is every bit as important, Brienne. We love you, so much.”

Brienne was clasping Jaime’s hand more tightly now, her fingers kneading his. 

“So? Is that a yes?”

Brienne nodded, slowly at first, then decisively. “Yes. Yes. As long as you’re alright with it.”

“Of course we are,” Jaime said. He pressed a chaste kiss to Brienne’s lips, just a peck. “So it’s settled, then.”

Cersei nodded. “It is.” She noticed that her hands were shaking a little, and she did her best to still them. “Let’s go, then.”

Brienne nodded. “And if the Martells try anything…”

“If any of them so much as lay a finger on her, I will burn this whole city to the ground.”

Jaime sighed exasperatedly. “And how do you propose to do that?”

Cersei shrugged. “I’ll find a way.”

“I’m sure you will. Come on.”

The sun was just dipping below the horizon when they reached the docks, warm pink and orange bleeding into the calm sea below. 

Myrcella was already there, saying an enthusiastic goodbye to all the Martells. She had her arms wrapped around one of the Sand Snakes. “I’m going to miss you so much!” she said. “I’ll write to you once we get to King’s Landing, I promise.”

“Of course,” the Sand Snake said. “I wish you and Trystane the best of luck and happiness in your marriage.”

“Will you come to our wedding?” Myrcella asked. 

“We...will have to wait and see.”

Another Sand Snake - the little one with the braid Cersei had fought - came up and joined the hug. “Goodbye, Myrcella.”

“Nymeria! Oh, I’m going to miss you too…you will reply if I send you a raven?” 

“Yes, yes! And you have to let me know if you start learning to fight again. You’d make a good fighter, Myrcella, although an even better princess.”

Myrcella beamed. “I don’t know about that.”

She was so good. So kind, so beautiful, always lit up the room like the sun, always sought to find the best in a situation. It had always bemused Cersei, how someone like her could make someone so pure. 

Myrcella turned around, and Cersei managed to contort her features into something resembling a smile. “Mother! Uncle Jaime, Brienne…”

“Nice of you to finally join us,” Ellaria said, tone full of barely masked contempt. 

“Took longer to pack than we expected,” Jaime said nonchalantly. “We had to, uh, check over our supplies.”

“Of course,” she said. 

“I wish you a safe journey home,” Prince Doran said. 

“Thank you,” Jaime said. “And thank you for being so...gracious. We appreciate it.” He cast his eyes over to Brienne, almost suspiciously. 

Ellaria stepped forwards. “Forgive me, child,” she said, placing one hand on Myrcella’s arm. “I-”

Cersei’s eyes widened suddenly. _If any of them lay a finger on her…_ “Don’t you touch her!” she said. 

Ellaria’s eyes flickered up to her. “What?”

“Don’t touch my daughter.”

Ellaria raised her eyebrows, but obeyed. “I wish you all the happiness in the world, Princess.” 

There was something in her eyes, something in her expression she was trying to conceal...panic, perhaps? Fear? 

“Thank you, Ellaria,” Myrcella said uncertainly. “I will miss you as well.”

“Can we leave now?” Cersei said. 

Doran nodded. “You may.”

“Goodbye,” Brienne said, her tone also a little unsure. Had Cersei stepped over the line again? 

Jaime stepped onto the boat, holding out his hand. “Myrcella?”

Myrcella took his hand, and stepped down. She waved one final goodbye to the Martells before stepping inside, Trystane following her. 

Cersei glanced at Brienne. “Was that…”

“I think you did the right thing,” Brienne said. “And either way, if it keeps Sunspear from being _burnt to the ground…”_ _  
_

Cersei laughed lightly. “Let’s get out of here.”

Brienne smiled, and took her hand. “Let’s.”

Once they’d retreated into their chambers, Myrcella and Trystane standing on the deck, they shut the door quietly behind them. 

“We did it,” Jaime said, disbelievingly. “We...actually did it.” A grin broke out on his face. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me neither,” Brienne said. “I mean, quite a lot of the time I thought we were going to die there, but we didn’t.” She sounded genuinely surprised, half-joking, half-serious. “Oh, come here.”

“Wha-” Jaime said, right before Brienne pulled him into what looked like a rib-crushing hug. “Oh!”

“Cersei, get over here,” Brienne said, and Cersei practically threw herself into the two of them. 

“I keep thinking there’s more to come,” Cersei said. “I mean, there may well be, but...I don’t want to think about that now.”

“So don’t,” Jaime said. 

Brienne placed a kiss to her forehead, and Cersei grinned. She placed her hand on the back of her neck and got up on her tip-toes, kissing her right back on the lips. 

Brienne smiled. “We really can’t keep doing this now Myrcella is with us.” 

“We really can’t.” But she was still kissing her, so it clearly wasn’t that urgent in either of their minds. 

Jaime glanced behind him. “We actually have separate beds now. That’s...something. I’m not sure if it’s a _good_ something.”

Cersei’s face fell a little. “I suppose we should get it over with.” 

“I - yes. We should give her time to process it.”

Brienne glanced around. “Do you want me to leave, or-”

“You can’t be serious.” Cersei clasped Brienne’s hand. “You have every right to be here. Stay with us.”

Brienne nodded slowly. “If you want me to.”

“I’ll go and fetch her.” Cersei opened the door and walked out to the deck, where Trystane and Myrcella were looking out at the sunset together, clutching each other’s hands. With a pang, it reminded Cersei of how she, Brienne, and Jaime had looked out at Tarth together on the way south, danced under the stars without a care in the world. 

_She really is in love,_ she reminded herself. It stung a little, that she was so much older than her daughter and yet had only just experienced what she was experiencing now: real love, that didn’t hurt you or break you down but built you up and made you happier. She hadn’t even properly realised that relationships were supposed to make you feel good about yourself until she’d met Brienne, and she doubted Jaime had either. 

And now she had to tell Myrcella the truth about all of that. 

“Myrcella? Darling?”

“Mother?” She turned around, her blonde hair and diaphanous dress glistening in the low light. 

“May I speak to you, quickly? Sorry to pull you away from Trystane, you seem very...happy.”

“Your Grace,” Trystane said with a nod. “Thank you for allowing Myrcella and I to go to King’s Landing together.”

“As long as you make her happy, I’m happy. Now, please, if I could…” She gestured at Myrcella. 

“No, no, of course.” He let go of her hand. “I will see you later, my love.”

He kissed her chastely on the cheek and walked away from her. 

“What is it?”

“It’s...complicated. Come inside.”

She led Myrcella into the bedroom, where Jaime and Brienne awaited, nervous expressions plastered across their faces. 

“Is everything all right?” she said. 

“We should sit down,” Jaime said. He and Brienne sat on the edge of one bed, Cersei and Myrcella on the other, all facing each other. 

“I see you’re wearing your lion necklace again,” Brienne said. 

Myrcella smiled, and grazed the pendant with her fingers. “I can’t believe I lost it. I’m never letting it out of my sight again.” 

Cersei clutched her daughter’s hand, and Myrcella clasped it back. 

“You and Trystane seem so happy,” she said. “He seems like a nice boy.”

“I didn’t think you’d like him,” Myrcella said. 

“Like I said. If you’re happy, I’m happy. But, there’s...well…” She glanced up at Jaime, who nodded. “There’s something we want to tell you. Perhaps we should have told you a long time ago, but better late than never, I suppose. I...” Her words faltered. She was drawing a complete blank in her mind, and it didn’t help her to vocalise what she was trying to say. “I don’t know how to do this.” 

“That’s all right,” Jaime said. “Love is...uh...complicated. And you know that, Myrcella. I mean, the Lannisters and the Martells - we’re not exactly friends, but you and Trystane have fallen in love. These matters can be strange. And sometimes-”

“I know you’re my father.”

“You _what_?”

Cersei clamped a hand over her mouth. She hadn’t been able to control herself. 

“Cersei!” Jaime said indignantly. 

“I’m sorry, how was I supposed to react?” She looked Myrcella over, completely bemused. “What - how did you-”

“I think I’ve always known. And I know you think I’m young and naive, but I do hear what the rest of the seven kingdoms hear.”

Jaime sighed deeply, putting his head in his good hand. “And here I was so worried about how you’d take it. You’re not - you don’t think-”

“I’m glad you’re my father,” she said. “I wouldn’t want it any other way. Besides.” She raised her eyebrows suggestively. “You might have thought you were being subtle back there in your quarters, but I saw...something.”

“Oh, gods, no!” It was Jaime’s turn to have an uncontrollable reaction. “Myrcella, we-”

“It’s okay. It’s nothing I didn’t know before, I’m not traumatised or anything. And I don’t think it’s disgusting, I - well, it’s hardly normal, but if you love each other, then-”

“Myrcella, we’re not together anymore.”

She hesitated, bewildered. “Oh?”

“No. Your mother and I, we…” He took a deep breath, searching for the words. 

“We were together, for a long time,” Cersei interjected. “And we thought we made each other very happy, but recently we realised...we don’t. Love is complicated, you know that. Sometimes, we think we love someone, but we’re actually just looking for something we aren’t able to find. So, we decided to end our...relationship, and we’ve both been much happier ever since.”

“Well, either way, I-” She frowned, seemingly still puzzled. “Then what were you doing?”

“Ah,” Cersei said. “That’s where Brienne comes in.” Her hands were trembling again. “You’ve met Brienne, haven’t you?” 

“Yes, but I thought...I don’t know what I thought. I thought you were just a guard for my...my mother and father.” She exhaled a sigh of relief. “It feels good to say it, finally. I can call you Father, can’t I?”

“Perhaps Uncle Jaime would still be better in public,” Jaime said, smiling a little. “But if you’d like to, then yes.”

Myrcella grinned cheekily. “Alright, then...Father.”

Cersei could have sworn she saw tears glistening in Jaime’s eyes, but they didn’t come out. 

“So what is it?” Myrcella gasped. “Are you and Brienne…” She lowered her voice. “Are you lovers?”

Brienne smiles softly, her cheeks pinkening a little. Cersei couldn’t help but smile a little with her.

“Uh...in a way, yes,” Jaime said. “Brienne and I are together. But it’s a little more complex than that. I...uh, Brienne explained it very well to me once, and I hope I can do her justice when I say this.” He took a deep breath, his good hand shaking. Brienne put a hand on it, and he leaned into her touch. 

“You love Trystane, don’t you? You know how that feels.” Myrcella nodded. “But imagine you loved another boy as well. And that boy also loved you back. What would you do then?”

“I’d have to choose,” Myrcella said, her brow furrowed.

Cersei realises with a jolt that this wouldn’t just be an explanation of their relationship: it would be telling her daughter that she also liked women. She hadn’t even thought to be afraid of doing that, but now the thought occurred to her, her body flooded with fear.

“Not...necessarily,” Jaime said. “If you - I might sound like an idiot here.”

“Not at all. Go on.”

“If you loved both of these...people, and they both loved you back, and there was a certain level of understanding between you all, then you could be with them both. If you wanted to. I mean, not everyone would. But we do.”

Myrcella blinked several times, still looking very confused. “I...see. But I don’t understand. Who is the other person?”

Cersei swallowed hard, her throat almost too dry for the action. “Me.”

Her daughter was silent for a second. 

“You?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought you said you and Father weren’t together any…” She looked over at Brienne. “Oh.”

Cersei grimaced. “Yes. Please don’t think I’m-”

Myrcella’s frown deepened, clearly processing the information and putting two and two together. “You like women?”

Cersei nodded shakily. It was still daunting to say it out loud, even if she herself had come to terms with it a while ago.

“Oh! So does Nymeria. And Tyene, I think.”

“Who?” 

“...The Sand Snakes?”

“Oh! Of course.” 

“I mean, I used to think it was disgusting, but being in Dorne changed my mind, I suppose.” She glanced between the two of them. “So...you and Brienne?”

“Yes,” Cersei said. “And Jaime and Brienne. Just not Jaime and I.”

Myrcella nodded. “I see.”

Brienne cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, I don’t want you to feel like I’m intruding on your family or anything. I hope you can-”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Myrcella said. “You’re not intruding on anything. You love each other, don’t you?” 

“Yes.”

“And you make my mother and father happy?”

“That’s what they told me,” Brienne said, her tone becoming more playful, “but I’m not sure they were telling the truth.”

“Brienne!” Jaime lightly tapped her shoulder. 

“And when have you ever known me to be untruthful?” Cersei said. 

“Do you want a list?” Brienne scoffed. 

Myrcella laughed. “I hope you realise what you said goes for me as well, Mother. If you’re happy, I’ll be happier too.” She turned to Jaime. “And you.”

“Well, then,” Jaime said, wrapping an arm around Brienne’s shoulders. “As long as we have Brienne around, you’ll be the happiest girl on earth.”

Myrcella beamed. “I think I already am.”

Cersei clutched her daughter’s hand. “This isn’t too much for you to take in?”

“Not at all. And I won’t tell anyone. Especially not Trystane.”

“I know you won’t.” She laughed, a hollow, relieved sound. “Gods, I was so worried about telling you all this. I thought...I don’t know what I thought.”

Myrcella pulled her into a hug. “It’s all right. I know this must be very difficult for you. All of you.”

Cersei chuckled again, but it came out a little strangled. More like a sob. _Please don’t cry now._ Too late. Another sob escaped her, and a hot tear fell off her face and landed on Myrcella’s shoulder. 

“Are you crying?” Myrcella clutched her even tighter. “Don’t cry, please.”

“I’m not,” Cersei said, which was probably the most pathetic thing she could have said in between sobs. “I’m...relieved. I’m happy. It’s just very overwhelming.” 

A hand reached out to her, and she clutched it. She wasn’t sure whose it was, couldn’t drag herself away from the comforting embrace of her daughter enough to check, but she squeezed it anyway. 

“You should go,” Cersei said, pulling away abruptly. “Be with Trystane for a while. Dance under the stars or something.”

Myrcella raised her eyebrows. “Dance under the stars? That’s an...interesting idea.”

Cersei glanced over to Brienne. “Yes, it is.”

“You’re sure? You don’t want to talk about anything else?” 

“Not right now. Go, have fun. You deserve it.”

Myrcella grinned cheekily. “Are you trying to get me out of here for...other reasons?”

“No!” Cersei and Jaime both exclaimed at the same time, and Brienne put her head in her hands. 

Jaime coughed politely. “I, uh, don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. Especially since we’ll be sharing a room.”

Brienne cringed. “We are all sharing a room, aren’t we?”

“Mhm,” Cersei said thoughtfully. “Don’t you and Trystane go getting any ideas.”

“Don’t worry. If he tries anything, and he wouldn’t, but...well, now I’ve got three very intimidating parents who know how to wield a sword. I don’t think he’ll live to regret it.”

Cersei patted her on the shoulder. “That’s my girl. Now go and enjoy yourselves.”

Myrcella beamed, and she practically bounded out of the room. 

“Wait,” Jaime said. “Did you just say _three_?”

Myrcella shrugged, and closed the door behind her. 

“Myrcella!”

It was too late. She was gone. 

Jaime turned towards Brienne, astounded. “I’m so sorry. I’m sure she didn’t mean anything by it.”

Brienne nodded slowly. “Yes. I’m sure she…you think she’s taken it well, then? She’s not...you know…”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Brienne,” Cersei said, shifting herself across the gap between the beds to sit next to her. “She likes you, of course she does. I think...I think we’ve never really been a happy family before. I think she wants that as much as we do. But if you’re not comfortable with what she said-”

“I am,” Brienne said abruptly. “I definitely am.”

Jaime exhaled. “And here I thought this week was going to be incredibly awkward at best.”

Brienne laughed. “Me too. Myrcella’s a lovely girl. You’re very lucky to have her.”

“She is, isn’t she?” Cersei ruffled the back of Brienne’s hair. “And we’re very lucky to have you, too.”

**Sansa**

In retrospect, doing exactly what a mysterious note told her to do was definitely going to be a bad idea. Especially when the letter in question said _Come to the gardens after nightfall. Bring no one. Burn this note._ When she’d first received it, she’d wondered if it had been intended for her, or for someone else, but she’d burned it anyway, not wanting to take that chance. 

Perhaps it was from Lady Olenna. The gardens would make sense, then. And even so, the garden was an open space, and if she needed to run, she could run. In theory. 

Looking around in the dark, it had definitely been a bad idea. She clutched her little Needle in her hand, twirling it between her fingers. She wore that necklace every day, the tiny sword hanging over the front of all her dresses her last defence. She should run. She should turn back to the Red Keep, and -

“Lady Sansa?”

She whipped her head around. That voice definitely wasn’t Lady Olenna, and she didn’t recognise it at all. It was a man, that was the one thing she could discern. 

“Hello?” _This is the single stupidest thing I could possibly be doing. I’m definitely going to die._

“Over here.” She turned, eyes darting around, until her gaze finally settled on a short figure in the shadows. He looked like he could almost be made out of shadows himself. 

“Who are you?” She kept her distance. 

He didn’t. She backed away a little as he stepped closer. 

“Ah, I see. You don’t recognise me.” Was she supposed to? “My name is Maester Qyburn. I’m a friend of Queen Cersei-”

 _Shit._ She brandished her Needle. “Don’t you come any closer. I’ll-”

“You’ll what, poke my eye out?”

“You look fragile enough. It might kill you.”

He laughed, an empty sound. “I’m afraid you might be right there. But you can put that thing down, I’m not going to try anything. If Her Grace wanted you dead, you would be dead by now. You’re smart enough to know that.”

“Apparently not smart enough to know not to meet a stranger in the gardens.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. You’re in a very difficult position at the moment. I’d take help anywhere I can get it.”

So he was cryptic, leery, had asked to meet her after dark, and was a friend of Cersei’s, to cap it all off. Every nerve in her body was screaming out _run, get away from him while you still can._

But then again…

“What do you know about my difficult position?”

“I think it’s almost identical to mine.”

“What in the seven hells is that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer to her again, but her own feet didn’t move. “As I said, I am a dear friend of Cersei’s. Well. Recently, I’ve been seeing less of her...she seems to be otherwise preoccupied. Besides being in Dorne. But, as I’m sure you’re aware, she has been convicted of indecency. Her Grace should be returning to the capital in a few days. Three, at most. Once she returns, the Sparrows will not hesitate to arrest her and...punish her as they see fit.” He shook his head. "I tried my best to protect her and the King, but I was unsuccessful."

Ah, yes. Sansa had almost forgotten about Cersei’s own conviction on top of Margaery and Loras’ arrests. At the time, it had felt like a small victory, but she couldn’t recreate that feeling anymore, not knowing she was guilty of the very same crime. Of all Cersei’s wrongdoings, that was the one they had taken offence to?

“You’re really asking me to help you protect Cersei? I hate her more than anyone.”

Qyburn tutted. “I know you dislike her. But might I remind you...hasn’t Lady Margaery been arrested, too?”

Sansa opened her mouth to contradict him, but he held up a hand. “I know, I know, you’re the one who ensured her arrest. But you are clever, aren’t you? You did that to protect her. It’s all right. I won’t tell anyone. You see what I mean? We both have people we must protect from the Sparrows.”

Shit. He’d seen right through her. 

“And you want us to, what? Put aside our differences to help each other?” She rolled her eyes. 

“Well, don’t you want to free your...friend?”

“Of course I do. But-”

“And I wish to do the same for my queen. Now, would you be willing to listen to me?”

Sansa huffed. She wanted nothing to do with him. But the second he’d said Margaery’s name, her mind had said _yes, anything it takes to protect her._ And she had already promised to help her escape the Sparrows, but this.... 

She didn’t have to trust him. She just had to listen. 

“Fine,” she said. “What do you want?”

He raised his eyebrows. “I know of a way into the cells, where they will be keeping her and Margaery, where in theory I could release them. But I can’t do it alone. I would need a distraction, because while the Sparrows may be imbeciles, they’re not stupid. If, when the time comes, you could pull them away from their stations, in theory I could free them.”

“In theory. And then what? You think they’ll just let Margaery and Loras go? Cersei, too?”

Qyburn smirked. “They won’t let Margaery and Loras go. You’ll be taking them out of King’s Landing.”

“I’ll be _what?”_ She took a step back. 

“Margaery has been a nuisance to Her Grace for far too long.”

Sansa gritted her teeth. _How dare he slander her._

“You see, Lady Sansa, you have a choice. You either leave the capital, and I let you go free, or you stay, and Margaery remains in prison.”

The choice seemed obvious. She ached to leave King’s Landing, had longed for it for years, and when she had finally been able to leave before, she had been taken into another situation where she was used against her will. This time, she could really be free of the city, leave of her own volition, perhaps go to Highgarden or to Dorne or... _or to the North,_ she thought with a pang. Winterfell may be no more, but she could perhaps live in Wintertown, happily, with Margaery. It was all she could have asked for, laid out in front of her. 

But Margaery had worked so hard to be queen, loved it so much. And the political implications this could have hardly bore thinking about. 

“Did Cersei put you up to this?”

“She did not.”

Sansa bit the inside of her cheek. “I will _think_ about it,” she almost spat. “But do not think, under any circumstances, even if I agree to it, that I trust you.”

He laughed. “A wise idea. Should you wish to discuss the matter further, you can usually find me in my laboratory. Though discretion remains key.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“I do not, Lady Sansa. But I do hope you will take my offer. I think we could be of great help to each other. And might I remind you that I am not your enemy.”

“The enemy of my enemy is not my friend. I learned that a long time ago.”

“Perhaps.”

 _Ugh._ Sansa turned and walked away, indecision bringing her agony. It was the perfect opportunity. It was everything she ever wanted, and had promised Margaery she would give her. But _Cersei…_

She turned her head around, only a few paces away from Qyburn. “Maester Qyburn?”

“Yes?”

“Why did Cersei let me live?”

“What do you mean?”

“She wanted me dead. Then, when they found me in the Eyrie, they said she wanted me brought back to King’s Landing alive. Why?”

Qyburn thinned his lips. “I’m afraid that’s a question even I cannot answer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided that Myrcella can have little a not dying, as a treat, because she deserves better and fuck canon. I also partially decided this because the next chapter or so is going to be...A lot, emotionally. And because I love Myrcella. 
> 
> We're veering towards "season finale" territory once again, and I know what's going to happen, but I have no idea how long it's going to take to write it, so bear with me. Thank you all for your continued support on this weird little story and this weird little ship.


	21. The Grief of the Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon arriving back in King's Landing, Jaime, Brienne, and Cersei's illusion of happiness is quickly shattered, and Cersei's world is turned upside down. Jaime, Brienne and Sansa must race against the clock to protect the people they love before it's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it here with me. I’m weirdly emotional over this chapter because the scene at the end is one of the scenes that came into my head first when I realised this was going to be a long-ass fic, and now we’re here I feel like I’ve achieved something.   
> Title is taken from "The Stupid, The Proud" by IAMX.

**Cersei**

Seeing the silhouette of the Red Keep appear over the horizon was almost disappointing. Their trip to Dorne had been...well, they’d almost died several times, so that put a little bit of a downer on the whole experience, but it had been an extremely welcome reprieve from the political hellscape King’s Landing had become. Besides, the last seven days on the ship had been almost blissful, and Cersei couldn’t help but crave to make up for the years of lost time she had with her daughter. 

She hadn’t realised how lucky she’d been until it was over. She’d had the chance to fight, actually _fight,_ as she’d wanted to when she was younger, alongside her lover and her brother, without living in fear of people discovering them or condemning her actions, and to spend time with her daughter who she’d assumed she would never see again. 

She was even coming to like Trystane. A little. Not as much as she probably should have, but she didn’t want to hurl him away from Myrcella every time she saw them interacting, which was an improvement. 

Still, when they docked in Blackwater Bay with no hindrance whatsoever, she tried her best to shrug off the disappointment that shrouded her. 

“It’s so good to be back,” Myrcella said. “I love Dorne, but...it’s so hot there.” She took a deep breath. “And the sea smells different here somehow.”

“I don’t smell anything different,” Trystane said playfully. 

“It smells like home,” Myrcella said warmly. “Oh, you’ll love it here, Trystane. We have to show you the gardens - they’re smaller than the Water Gardens, but they’re so beautiful, and the flowers will be in full bloom now.”

“I think we should get you two settled in first,” Jaime said. “It’s been a long trip over, we should, uh, get our bearings first.” 

Cersei looked up at the Red Keep, towering over her once again. _Tommen,_ she thought with a pang. _I’ve left him alone all this time._ Granted, he had the Small Council, and Qyburn, but it couldn’t have been easy for him. 

“Why don’t you two take Myrcella and Trystane up to their rooms,” she said, nodding towards Jaime and Brienne. 

“Aren’t you coming?” Brienne said. 

“I, uh...I’m just going to find Tommen quickly. Let him know I’m back.” It would be better if she did this alone, she’d decided. “You all go, I’ll meet you in the courtyard when I’m done.”

Jaime and Brienne exchanged a nervous glance, but they seemed to concede. 

“All right,” Jaime said. He patted Myrcella on the shoulder. “Come on, then. Your old room’s still the same. A little dusty, perhaps, but we’ve kept it for you.”

Myrcella beamed. “I expect I’ve missed so much. Tommen’s married now, isn’t he? I can’t wait to meet his wife.”

Jaime chuckled, and Cersei couldn’t help but do the same. 

“There’ll be plenty of time for that later. Now, come along.”

Tommen wasn’t in the throne room. 

It was strange, seeing the hall empty, quiet, the throne unoccupied. Like this was just another room and the Iron Throne was just another chair. She felt almost detached from reality in that moment, like she shouldn’t have been there. 

“Your Grace?”

She whipped her head around, the unexpected voice echoing through the chamber. 

A man stood behind her, and the second she saw him, she took a step back. She hadn’t meant to, not necessarily, but he was absolutely filthy. He looked like he could have come right out of the deepest parts of Flea Bottom, unwashed and dressed in what looked like a sack. 

She wrinkled her nose. “Who are you?”

The man laughed. “Forgive me. You’ve been away, haven’t you? I am known as the High Sparrow.”

He spoke loftily, like he had some wisdom to offer her. Like he thought he was better than her. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I am a man of great faith. I seek to return holiness to this great city in the eyes of the gods.”

“Listen, I’m not interested in hearing the words of a deranged fanatic. I have no idea how you got in here, but-”

“I am not deranged, Your Grace. You really have missed a lot, haven’t you?” He looked her up and down. “I must confess, this is not the attire I expected to see you in. You could almost be mistaken for a man.”

She gritted her teeth, and tried to suppress the urge to reach for the sword that was still hanging at her side. “Do you want me to call the guards on you?”

“You could try, Cersei, but your attempts would be futile. You see, while you’ve been gone, I like to think I’ve achieved my purpose and brought justice in the eyes of the gods.”

What in the seven hells was he talking about? What could she possibly have missed? 

“Where’s my son?” she said tentatively. She wasn’t quite sure why he might know, but his demeanor put her on edge. 

“Your son is fine,” he said, which was about the least reassuring thing he could have said. “He is upstairs, in his chambers. You know, Tommen is a very understanding young man. You brought him up well.”

“Tommen is your King. You have no right to comment on him or me.”

“Oh, but I do, Your Grace. We came to King’s Landing after your father died, wanting to set the world right and bring about justice, and your son was willing to listen. He, like us, wanted to make this city a better place for everyone, but he was distraught to hear how full of sin this city was. Ever since, we have been working to remove that, to fix that problem. And we’ve heard so much about so many people, but the things we’ve heard about you…”

A chill ran down the length of Cersei’s spine. _No. They know about Jaime and I. Our children._ She should have known her luck couldn’t last that long. They had saved Myrcella together, and now their heads would decorate the city walls together. 

“Tell me, Cersei. Do you remember a woman called Nadya?”

_Oh, fuck._

“Because she remembers you. And she had so many interesting things to say about you. It was such a shame your son had to hear them too.”

_Don’t bolt. If I bolt now, I’ll be incriminating myself._

“I’m sorry. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Appropriate, isn’t it? Your clothing. The sword at your side - you could almost be a man, like I said. And apparently, you lie with women as a man would.”

“I have many enemies,” she said. “Many of whom would like to paint me as such a degenerate.”

“Enemies who could access gold from the Lannister accounts? You may have used a false name when you bought that whore, but we know where the money came from.”

She remembered that day with a pang, the guilt she had felt buying the girl, the uncertainty in her eyes as she approached her, and yet she had been intoxicated by her beauty, her soft words and lips and the gentle noises that escaped her as Cersei fucked her. 

She had felt invincible back then. She was the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and nobody could stop her from doing exactly as she pleased, no matter how shameful she herself had felt doing it. 

And now that traitorous whore had sold her out to...who, exactly? Some fanatic who had managed to worm his way into the mind of the king and grasp some sort of power here. 

_I shouldn’t have left Tommen alone. I should have been there for him, to protect him._

“Well, Cersei?”

She straightened her posture defiantly. Who was this man to confront her, to make her fear him? “I will not deny your accusations. I will not-”

“You do not deny them?”

“No, but-”

“Oh, Cersei.” He shook his head, and his patronising manner made her want to vomit. “ Your pride will be the death of you. Because that confession is exactly what we needed to hear.” He nodded vaguely in her direction. “Take her.”

“What are you-” She turned around, but not before a man took hold of her, one hand pinning hers together and one arm wrapped around her stomach, pulling her in. 

She tried to kick him, push him off her, but he had caught her off guard, and she was now firmly in his grasp. “Unhand me.” She did her best to keep her tone calm, regal, authoritative with no hint of fear. “This is how you would treat your queen?”

“You remember Lancel, don’t you?” 

_Lancel?_ She turned her head just enough to see her assailant, and with a jolt she realised exactly who it was. 

“He had a lot of interesting things to say about you, too. It would be nice to hear you confess to those sins, too, but we have no need of that now. Take her to the sept.”

Lancel nodded. He had a bloody star carved into his forehead, and his hair was shorn: he was a shadow of the man she had known, even if that man was very little to begin with. Had her son had the same star carved into his head, or had the Sparrow’s words merely been seared into his brain? 

“What are you doing?” she said breathlessly. Two other Sparrows came out of the alcoves, shadows themselves, to restrain her. “I am - do not touch me, you filthy man.” 

One grabbed her sword and threw it to the floor, clanking on the cobblestones. 

“I am your queen! I will see your heads on a spike if you touch me one second longer. I will cut them off myself if no one else will. Let me go-” One of them clamped their hands over her mouth, and white-hot anger surged through her, electrifying every nerve in her body and motivating her to struggle against them no matter how iron their grip was. She bit down on the offending hand, teeth scraping against his palm, and the man jerked away from her, but the rest held her fast. 

“Queen or not, we are all equal in the eyes of the gods,” the High Sparrow said. “And we will deliver the justice of the gods unto you. You will atone for your sins.”

**Jaime**

Myrcella slung her bag down on her bed, and immediately ran to the window. 

“Oh, it’s just how I remember it!” She inhaled deeply. “I can still smell the sea from here.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brienne smile, and it sent a flood of warmth through him. He turned and grinned back at her. 

Jaime chuckled. “I think you have the best view in the whole Red Keep up here. Trystane will, too, once you’re married.”

It was strange to think of his niece - no, his daughter, he could afford himself to think that now - getting married. She was a woman now, he supposed, and she was in love, but in his mind she was still the young girl who had sailed away to Dorne without a goodbye. 

He would just have to adjust to it, the same way she had adjusted to the information they’d disclosed aboard the ship. He owed it to her, really. 

Myrcella turned around. "Do you know when that will be? I can hardly wait.”

“It might not be for a while. We will have to sort out some...technicalities first. Your mother and Tommen will have their hands full, it’s no wonder she went to speak to him first.” 

“Of course.” She lunged forwards, wrapping Jaime in a hug. “Thank you for getting me home safely.” She glanced over at Brienne. “Both of you.”

Brienne beamed, and if Myrcella’s grin was like a sunbeam, Brienne’s was the light of a thousand stars. “I don’t think I’m the one you should be thanking. But-”

Myrcella raised her eyebrows, and Brienne conceded. “But you’re welcome.”

“Good.” Myrcella broke out of the hug gently. “I’m going to unpack my things now, if that’s all right?”

“Of course,” Jaime said. “We’ll, uh - we should check up on Cersei, I think.”

He hoped the return to King’s Landing would be kind to her, that she wouldn’t be too overwhelmed. She had seemed a lot happier in Dorne, at least on the way over, and he hoped she would be able to retain some of that. 

Perhaps Brienne’s influence would help calm her down, keep her head level. He was endlessly grateful that Brienne understood her in a way that he’d never really been able to, thought he had but couldn’t quite grasp. Then again, he could say the same for himself. She was good at bringing out the best in people, he’d learned, even if she couldn’t necessarily see it. 

“Of course,” Brienne said. “I’ll see you later, Myrcella?”

“Hopefully,” Myrcella said. Jaime nodded, and slipped out through the door, shutting it carefully behind Brienne. 

“Well,” Brienne said. “She seems to be happy.”

“I hope so,” he said. “She seemed so happy in Dorne, but she always loved it here, too. She loves the sea so much, I think that’s the thing.”

Brienne smiled.

“What?”

“You’re a good...uncle, Jaime.” She looked up the hall tentatively. “You know what I mean.” 

“I hope that, too.” He sighed. “And she loves you. Really, I mean...I knew she’d like you, but...I mean, who can blame her?” 

Her grin brightened, and Jaime was once again dazzled. “Let’s go and find Cersei, then.”

Cersei hadn’t been in the courtyard when they’d arrived, and she still wasn’t there a good thirty minutes later. 

“Maybe she’s still talking to him,” Jaime said. “After all, we’ve been gone for weeks. There must be a lot to catch up on, surely.”

“It’s been an hour,” Brienne said. “She would have at least let us know, don’t you think?”

“You’re worried about her.” It was a statement, not a question. He could see the furtiveness in her eyes. “What could have happened to her, really?”

“Uncle Jaime!” 

“Tommen?” He turned around, and there he was, running down the hall towards them: Jaime hadn’t misheard his voice. “I thought you were with your mother?”

As he got closer, Jaime could make out the fear in his expression, the terror hovering behind his eyes. He was panting, red in the face. 

“My mother…” He stopped to catch his breath. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

Jaime glanced over at Brienne, who was seemingly as troubled as he was. 

“Where is she?” Jaime said. “We arranged to meet her here, but-”

“It’s my fault,” Tommen said, voice still shaky. “The Faith...I should have realised sooner. I shouldn’t have listened to them..I didn’t realise what they were going to do. What they were going to do to her.” The terror was no longer hovering behind his eyes, it was all around them, consuming him from the inside out. “I did this to her. I can’t-”

“Shh, shh, Tommen.” Jaime grasped him by the shoulders, trying to steady him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. But if something’s happened to Cersei…”

“They took her to the sept,” he said frantically. “I tried to stop them, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry.”

“Shh. It’s not your fault.” Jaime didn’t know that for sure, but agreeing with him wouldn’t get them anywhere. “What do you mean, they took her to the sept?” 

His lower lip wobbled. “The High Sparrow. He arrested her, and they said - they said she was going to atone for her sins. I thought they were going to make it better, not - not-”

He lightly tapped his nephew on the shoulder. _Nephew, son, nephew, son -_ now was not the time for those two words to spar inside his head. He wasn’t entirely sure what Tommen was getting at, but if Cersei was in danger - 

“We need to go, now,” Brienne said. She placed a hand on her sword, the movement instinctive even if there was nothing to point it at yet. “I don’t know what you mean by atone, but-”

“The Mother’s Mercy,” Tommen said. “That’s what they said. They’re going to walk her naked through the streets.” He grimaced, barely able to say the words. 

A jolt of fear hit Jaime squarely in the head. “Can they do that?”

“They can now,” Tommen said shamefully. 

Jaime’s breath hitched in his throat. “We can’t let that happen,” he said. 

Brienne shook her head frantically. “We have to stop them. Now.”

**Sansa**

She’d had no choice in the end but to say yes, really. No matter how reluctant she’d tried to seem when she dropped a note simply reading _Yes_ on Qyburn’s table, it hadn’t been a difficult decision at all. For selfish reasons, it was everything she could have hoped for. 

_Margaery, please don’t hate me._

Loras too, she had to remind herself. She was freeing both of them, but there was no ignoring which of them was more present in her mind. 

But Qyburn wasn’t here. He hadn’t been at the entrance to the tunnel as he’d promised he would be, hadn’t been there to give her the all-clear to create a distraction as they’d planned. 

She was starting to feel as though this was a trap, that Qyburn had tricked her. _I should have known better than to conspire with a friend of Cersei’s._ But what did she have to risk, really, by going on without him? Either she got Margaery out, and they escaped, or she didn’t, and they would both remain trapped here. 

So she progressed through the tunnels, torch aloft, until she reached the entrance to the cells. As she approached the dim light, she peered around the wall cautiously, gripping the strap of the bag of supplies and clothes she had slung over her shoulder. They were leaving the city, and this time for good. She just hoped her preparation wasn’t in vain. 

But there was no one there. Not a single Sparrow, no guards like there usually were, no septas patrolling the cells. She was the only soul down here not shackled by the Faith, or so it seemed. 

_It has to be a trap. Right?_

Still, she went on towards Margaery’s cell, silently accepting that she might die down here. It was a better death than the hundreds of others she could have suffered. 

It was unguarded. She rattled the bars. 

“Margaery? Margaery!”

A silence. A sharp gasp. 

“Sansa?”

Her hands fumbled to the bolt - thank god it bolted shut, locked from the outside, only concerned with keeping people in and not keeping people out. Still quietly unnerved by the lack of Sparrows or septas down here, she flung the door open. 

Margaery sat at her end of the cell, dishevelled and hair matted, looking helplessly up at her. 

“What are you doing here?” 

She looked down at her, breathless. _We’ve done it. I’ve got this far._ “I’m getting you out of here, like I promised.” She held out her hand. “Come on, we have to be quick. I don’t know how long we have.”

Margaery tried to get to her feet, one hand on the wall, but she was weak and trembling, dehydrated and halfway to starving. “I-”

Sansa rushed over to her, and gripped her tenderly, pulling her to her feet. 

“Can you walk?” she asked urgently. 

Margaery nodded. “I think so. I can get my footing.”

The two of them stared into each other’s eyes for a moment, both unable to comprehend the fact that Margaery might not actually die down here. That they could get out and be happy, whatever that meant. 

Then Margaery blindsided her with a kiss. It was urgent and desperate, and if Margaery was thirsty, Sansa was a fountain in the middle of the desert. She allowed herself to get lost in the kiss, to snake her hand into Margaery’s nest of hair, but then-

“We have to leave,” she said, pulling away rapidly. “We have to leave King’s Landing.”

Margaery’s eyes widened, the bright blue dulled. “Leave?”

“I’m sorry. I-” Her voice hitched. It wasn’t just Qyburn’s ultimatum forcing them to leave: who knew what had happened to him, if he had been arrested himself or just had given up on hope or had betrayed her. “We can’t stay here any longer. Or...I can’t.” She shook her head. “I wish I could say you could stay here, but I don’t know what’s going to happen to you, I don’t know-”

“I want to stay with you,” Margaery said. 

“But - you’re the queen. If you leave, you’ll be giving that up.”

Margaery shook her head. “All I ever wanted was to be the queen. But after everything that’s happened in the past few weeks...I wonder if it’s worth it. If giving up my happiness in exchange for power is what I really want. I’ve been doing that all my life, and look where it’s got me.” She looked around and sighed. “I wish I could have both. Be happy, and be in power. But I don’t think that’s possible.”

“We can try,” Sansa said. “We can find a way. Go to Highgarden, or-”

“If the Faith is looking for us - or the Lannisters for that matter - that’s the first place they’ll go,” Margaery said. “I would love more than anything to go there, but…”

Sansa shook her head. “We need to get out of the city first. If we don’t leave soon, they’ll find us, and it won’t matter where we go.”

Margaery nodded. “We need to get Loras.”

“Of course.” 

He was in the next cell over, and they managed to drag him out easily enough. 

“How the hell did you get in here?” he asked deliriously. 

“All the Sparrows are gone,” Sansa said. “I don’t know where to, but…”

“Let’s not dwell on it,” he said, glancing nervously up the corridor. “We need to get out while we can.”

“Loras…” Margaery said warningly. “We will have to leave King’s Landing for good.”

“I won’t pretend to be sad about that,” he said. “But if you’d rather stay…”

Margaery shook her head. “There will be other opportunities.” Loras nodded his head, and Sansa wasn’t quite sure what she meant by that, but he seemed to get it. “Right now we have to protect our lives.”

“All right,” he said, though he still sounded a little sceptical. 

They snuck out of the tunnels and once again found themselves running down the alleyways of King’s Landing, for what Sansa prayed would be the last time this time. 

“There are some stables near here,” Loras said. “We’ll have to steal some horses-”

They rounded a corner, and collided with two figures running just as fast as they were. Sansa stumbled back, inadvertently placing a protective hand on Margaery’s shoulder. 

“Watch where you’re going,” she huffed, not bothering to hide the fear in her voice. “If-”

She looked up, and her heart dropped. _Shit._

Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth were standing above her, both towering over her. 

_We were so close. We could have made it, if I’d just been a few seconds earlier._

“No,” she breathed. “Please, let us - we haven’t - please don’t tell Cersei-”

“Lady Margaery,” Brienne said. She was, seemingly, equally as breathless as them. “What - how did you-”

Her eyes flickered between her and Sansa. “Oh.”

“Please let us go,” Sansa said. “We haven’t - we won’t-”

Jaime and Brienne made furtive eye contact. Jaime nodded. 

“Go,” Brienne said, nodding sharply down the alleyway. “We’re not going to stop you.”

They weren’t? 

“I made a promise,” Brienne said. “To Lady Catelyn. I said I would bring you home, to your family. I intend to keep that promise as best as I can.”

Sansa shook her head. “My family is dead.”

“Not your whole family,” Jaime said hesitantly. 

Sansa frowned. What was he talking about? Her family was long gone, Mother and Father and Robb and Arya and -

“Ned Stark’s bastard son is still alive, isn’t he? Last I heard, he was Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch.”

Brienne made furtive eye contact with him. “Go,” she said. “We won’t stop you. Go where you will. Just be safe, and make your mother proud.”

That was it. They had to go to the Wall. It would be a long journey, and who knew if they would even find Jon when they got there, but…

She glanced between Margaery and Loras, who both nodded. She wasn’t sure if it was desperation or exhaustion or the ticking clock against them making them agree with her, but she didn’t have time to question them. If they wanted to change her mind, go elsewhere, they would have plenty of time for that on the road. For now, they needed to get out. 

Margaery’s eyes flitted up to Brienne, suddenly filled with panic. “If the Faith come after us…”

“Let’s just hope there isn’t a Faith to come after you any time soon,” Brienne said, “because there won’t be if I have anything to do with it.”

Jaime’s eyes widened in admiration. 

Margaery nodded. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you for letting us go.”

“Please,” Brienne stepped aside, giving them space to continue their path. “Get out while you can. Go.”

Sansa and Margaery exchanged a nervous glance, and Sansa gripped Margaery’s hand and pulled her along, running together into their future, Loras trailing behind them. 

The road ahead felt uncertain, but at least it was ahead of them. 

**Jaime**

When they finally clambered up the stairs to the Sept, they were both panting and exhausted. As they ran, they had both been fueled by the pure fear singing through their veins, their encounter with Sansa, Margaery and Loras only spurring them to run faster, undaunted by the constraint of their bodies until they could stop for good. 

Jaime hoped they left the city safely, even if Cersei seemed to want Sansa to stay in King’s Landing for some cryptic reason. They deserved to get away from this nightmare, he supposed. 

Honestly, Brienne’s determination had daunted him a little. She’d seemed so confident, so determined to tear down these people they barely knew, that he could hardly imagine what would happen if they failed. Or what lengths they would have to go to to succeed. 

He had spent so many years doing awful things for Cersei, but this time, whatever it was he would have to do, he finally, _finally_ felt like it was justified. 

He wasn’t doing this for his lover anymore, to protect an illicit and harmful relationship, but for his sister and closest friend. 

With that thought in mind, he looked up at Brienne. “Ready?”

She nodded, and wordlessly they walked into the sept together. 

Immediately, they were greeted by a strange-looking old man, dressed in what could have easily been a potato sack. He stepped out of the shadows right in front of them, so that Jaime stumbled back a little as he appeared out of nowhere. 

“Can I help you?” he said. 

“I’m sorry, who are-” Brienne began angrily, before realisation dawned in her eyes, and her gaze settled coldly onto the man. “You must be the High Sparrow.”

He nodded. “I see my reputation precedes me.” His eyes flickered down to Jaime’s hand. “Ser Jaime, I don’t believe we have been acquainted.”

“No,” he said harshly, “I don’t suppose we have. But you’ve been acquainted with my sister, I take it.”

“Now, now,” he said, and his tone was so achingly patronising that Jaime had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from lashing out at the man. “What we’ve-”

“What have you done with Cersei?” Brienne all but hissed. She pressed one hand to her sword, and the Sparrow raised his eyebrows. 

“You would spill blood in this holy place?”

“I don’t know. Would you imprison a woman and threaten to-” She swallowed hard in disgust. “To do what you’re allegedly going to do to her?”

“I have no idea what you could be referring to,” he said. “But Cersei has sinned in the eyes of gods and men. She has confessed to lying with women.”

“That’s not a crime,” Jaime scoffed. “You can’t just-”

“We are punishing her as the gods see fit.”

“Did the gods come down and tell you directly?” 

“Lower your voice, please, Lady…”

“Brienne. Lady Brienne. And I will not be told what to do by a treacherous fanatic such as yourself. Cersei is my dear friend and I will not allow you to humiliate her like this. Now.” She gripped Oathkeeper with a trembling hand, the blue veins stark against her skin. “Hand her over.”

The High Sparrow nodded. “You may speak with her.”

“What?” Jaime frowned. 

“I do not wish for there to be violence in this holy place. You may speak to her briefly before her atonement.”

Jaime glanced at Brienne, who nodded conspicuously. 

“We will,” he said.

“Excellent.” The High Sparrow seemed far too gleeful, too at peace for a man who had just invited two of his enemies into the Sept to speak with one of his prisoners.

What was it Brienne had said back in Dorne? _This is too easy._

“Lancel?” The High Sparrow turned to the pews in the Sept, where men in black robes were standing in rows. Had they been there all along, fading into the shadows like this man had. “Will you escort our guests to speak to Her Grace?”

Wait.

“Lancel?” Jaime said. He must have heard the man wrong, because he had a cousin named Lancel, but…

But no. There he was, clear as day, a star-shaped mark in his forehead and his blonde hair shorn down. He melted out of the shadows, black robes trailing on the floor like a lazy snake. 

“Of course, Your Holiness,” he said. 

So Lancel was here as well, had been drawn in by the same drivel that had attracted Tommen. Of course. He had never been the most strong-willed, but this was just pathetic, especially since Cersei was his family. He knew full well what they intended to do to her, and yet he still went along with it? 

“Follow me,” he said, and Jaime couldn’t help but grip his own sword as they were escorted down to the cells. 

The dank smell in the lower part of the Sept was suffocating, almost like the feeling of a pillow over your nose. It didn’t help that Lancel seemed to be walking as slowly as he possibly could, and Jaime wasn’t sure if it was intentional, but if the goal had been to annoy him and Brienne, it was certainly working. 

He had no idea what they could possibly do to aid Cersei. They couldn’t exactly communicate with Lancel hovering a foot in front of them, and they hadn’t had time to prepare. 

They would just have to improvise. 

“Did you enjoy your time in Dorne?” Lancel said, his tone a little too casual for Jaime’s liking. 

“What does it matter to you?” he snapped. 

“I was just trying to make conversation.”

“You’ve imprisoned my sister. Your cousin, might I add.”

“Family or not, we are all the same in the eyes of the gods.”

“You really believe that drivel?” Brienne snapped. “Where is Cersei, anyway?”

They seemed to be alone down here. There were a few cells lining the dark walkway, but they were unguarded, which only made the dankness feel more threatening. 

“She’s just a little further down,” he said, which was not reassuring. 

“How does walking a person naked through the streets bring justice to the gods in any way?” Brienne almost spat. “What does that do for anyone except bring humiliation and shame?”

Lancel scoffed. “That’s the point. She must feel the full shame of her sins in order to atone. Only then can she be saved.”

“She doesn’t need to be saved.”

Lancel ignored her remark. At what seemed like long last, they came to a stop outside one of the cells. Jaime could have sworn they’d walked past it before, but he wasn’t quite sure. They all looked the same. 

“I’ll just unlock it,” Lancel said. “You may speak to her briefly, but we will have to remove her soon in order to prepare her for her atonement.”

“Get on with it,” Brienne humphed. 

He began to fiddle with the bolt. His movements were frustratingly, painstakingly slow, and he couldn’t seem to get it open. 

“Hurry up,” Jaime said. 

He didn’t.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Brienne said, and pushed him aside. 

“Wait a moment-” Lancel began, trying to push her hands away, but it was too late. Brienne had already opened the door. 

“Cersei?” She poked her head inside. “Cersei?”

She’s chained at the back of the cell,” Lancel said. “You’ll have to go in if you want to speak to her.” 

“Cersei, can you hear me?” No response. 

Brienne’s eyes slowly turned to meet Jaime’s, and they nodded in understanding. Brienne quickly pinned Lancel to the wall, shoving her arm into his throat and holding him fast. 

Jaime poked his head inside as she pushed him down, and looked around. 

The cell was empty. Dread flooded his stomach. 

“You tricked us,” he said, glaring down at Lancel. “You _lied_ to us.”

Brienne lost her grip on Lancel when she heard that confirmation, the same dread seemingly drowning her. “She’s not here,” she breathed. 

Lancel tried to scurry away from the wall, but Jaime grabbed him by the collar and spun him around to face him. “Where is she?” he all but roared. “What have you done with her?”

Lancel gritted his teeth. “You’re too late. She’s already up there, atoning for her sins.” His eyes flashed excitedly. “The gods will-”

He gasped suddenly, his face contorted into an “O” of pain. He lurched forwards, a gasp escaping him. 

Jaime hadn’t realised what had happened until Brienne was pulling her bloody sword out of his back. 

A deadly exhilaration filled him as he let Lancel’s body crumple to the floor, and Brienne sheathed her sword again, wiping blood off her face. “We need to get up there. Now.”

He breathed heavily as he tried to make his body move forwards, to take another step. Absurdly, his head spun with lust for a moment, awe-stricken by Brienne’s ferocity. 

“Jaime.”

“Right. Sorry.”

They ran again, pushing past staircase after staircase until they finally broke the surface of the dank cells below the sept and came up for air. 

As they entered the main hall, Jaime peered out of the door. There was a massive crowd outside, seemingly amassed in the time it had taken them to get out - how long had they been in there? Long enough for the Sparrows to get Cersei out and enact their horrible punishment on her. He prayed - it seemed so wrong to pray to the gods when this atrocity was being done in their name, no, he hoped that they weren’t too late. 

As they neared the exit, he saw exactly what the crowd were leering at, and his heart dropped in his chest for what felt like the thousandth time today. Cersei was walking down the middle of them, being shouted and jeered at. Someone threw something at her, and a wet tear erupted from his eye as she stumbled back. 

Brienne grabbed his hand. “Quick, we have to…we have to…”

Her voice turned into a pant as the two of them practically threw themselves down the steps, hurling themselves at Cersei before it was too late and she walked out of reach. His body once again took over as they ran after her, adrenaline and rage kicking in and spurring it beyond its exhaustion. 

They pushed past the crowd, reaching out for her. Jaime could hear the harsh words being thrown at his sister, cutting like knives through the air: _whore, brotherfucker, bitch,_ but one stood out as the echoing sound of a bell reverberated through the air.

“Shame. Shame. Shame.”

“Stop!” Brienne roared. 

“Shame.”

“STOP!”

The woman ringing the bell came to a halt, finally having heard them over the sound of the crowd, and turned around. In that moment, the world slowed down, the eyes of the crowd turning in one fell swoop to focus on Jaime and Brienne.

Cersei was weak. It killed Jaime on the inside - and evidently Brienne, too, as she gripped his shoulder for support, to see her facing the ultimate humiliation. It was beyond anything he could have dreamt up. But as she turned around, slowly, legs shaking, a spark of hope flickered inside her empty green eyes.

“You came.” Her voice faded out into a scraping gasp, raw and sore from crying. “You came back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We haven’t seen the last of Margaery or Sansa, in case you’re wondering. They might not pop up so frequently, but they will come back. I’ve been playing around with the idea of writing a spin-off fic featuring a few of their adventures that might not make it into the main narrative, so please let me know if that’s something you’d be interested in seeing?  
> Anyway, thanks again for reading, and feedback as always would be appreciated.


	22. Lay Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne rescue Cersei from the clutches of the Sparrows, and try to deal with the threat they pose while comforting a deeply hurt and angered Cersei.

**Brienne**

The world came to a standstill. The crowd seemed to halt in unison, one great collective immediately falling silent as Jaime and Brienne broke through them. It sent an uneasy chill through Brienne’s mind, a ripple of fear through the air. 

“Cersei,” she breathed. What had they done to her? She was naked, and tears were streaming down her face, and there was something unpleasant staining her skin, and -

Her _hair._ They’d cut off her hair. It seemed like a stupid thing to notice, as her green eyes met hers, the wildfire that flickered behind them temporarily put out, but she knew how much it meant to her. This was more than just a haircut. It was outright humiliation. 

She could have been sick right there on the cobblestones. 

Jaime sprung to action beside her. He took his coat off, the long, tan leather riding jacket he wore so often, and began to run towards his sister. 

“Cersei,” he said, arms outstretched. “We-”

The Septa who had been pressing Cersei forwards and shaming her pressed a hand to his shoulder to stop him. 

“What are you doing?” she said. “You are obstructing the justice of the gods-”

“Fuck the gods,” Jaime said, and he shoved her away. Brienne had half a mind to run her through, kill her like she had Lancel, but she was still trembling, and wasn’t sure she could make it over there. 

The septa stumbled forwards, trying to push Jaime away once again, but Jaime whacked her in the head with his golden hand. It must have made quite the impact, because she fell to the ground with a cry, eliciting a gasp from the crowd. 

Cersei was still standing there, gasping for air through her tears, shivering despite the heat. 

“Here you go,” Jaime said frantically, and he wrapped his coat around her shoulders, covering her. She leaned into his touch, and began to sob. “Shh. Shh, shh, shh. It’s all right. We’ve got you.”

Brienne sprinted forwards, finding the strength in her legs at last to move. 

“Brienne,” Cersei whispered. “Jaime.”

“It’s all right,” she said, wrapping her own arms around Cersei and feeling her delicate body wrack with sobs. “We’re not going to let anything else happen to you. You’re safe now.”

She sought Cersei’s hand, and clutched it in hers, holding it tight. 

“Brotherfucking bitch!” someone in the crowd shouted, and Brienne’s eyes darted up. 

“Look at them,” someone else jeered. “The Lannister twins. Are you going to put on a show for us, then? Show us how Lannisters deal with family matters?”

A group of them laughed. 

“Go on then, Kingslayer. Give her a kiss,” a stout man towards the front of the crowd said. 

“Kinslayer, more like.” More crude laughter. 

A fresh, hot tear ran from Cersei’s eye, dripping down her face as she trembled. The crowd only laughed as she shuddered.

“You should all be fucking ashamed of yourselves,” Brienne spat. The people around them fell silent: she had spoken louder than she’d intended to. She hadn’t intended to speak at all, had been so spurred on by anger and love that she’d forgotten not to.

She tried to stand up tall, unashamed of her height, not slouching over or lowering her head to make herself seem shorter. “My name is Brienne of Tarth,” she said. “I am a friend of Ser Jaime and the Queen Mother. And-”

“You’re a woman?” 

“ _Shut up!_ ” She almost roared the words, already too riled up with anger and outrage to hear any more. “Shut up. You think you have the right - you come out here and you demean her like this, and for what? For what?” She was trembling now, and any minute now tears were going to come rolling down her cheeks, but she didn’t care what she looked like to them anymore. 

The septa on the ground looked up blearily. Jaime’s blow might not have killed her, regrettably, but it had done some damage. Her eyes were dizzy and unfocused, but full of contempt as they met Brienne’s. 

“The Queen Mother has sinned,” she said, and a few people in the crowd nodded in agreement. “She has violated the laws of gods and men. She must atone-”

Without even thinking, Brienne pulled out her sword and pointed it at the septa, her arm taut as a string about to snap. A sharp gasp came from the crowd. 

“Do not,” Brienne fumed. “Do not try and excuse what you’ve done. The gods - it doesn’t matter what the gods want. Fuck the gods.”

Her stomach burned with guilt for a moment - she had no contempt for the gods, not in that moment, just the actions done in their name. 

But it was worth it seeing the abhorrence come alight in the Septa’s beady eyes. So she kept going. 

“You should be ashamed.” She thrust her sword forward, still inches away from the septa’s throat. “This - no one deserves to be treated like this. This is the most disgusting, unnecessary punishment anyone could ever think of. What are you punishing her for, anyway? What has she done that warrants this treatment in the eyes of gods and men?”

“She’s a fucking whore!” one man jeered, and a few people nodded in agreement. 

Cersei trembled behind her, and Brienne reached her hand behind her. She staggered forwards to take it, Jaime’s coat almost comically oversized on her, but mercifully covering her. 

Usually it would be Cersei, she thought, berating people like this, anger simmering over in her blood and harsh words pouring from her mouth. But she could not, was sobbing and shivering, full of anger but too exhausted and put down to vocalise it.

Brienne clenched her jaw, and continued. _For Cersei’s sake, and for mine._ “But you don’t care about that, do you? None of you do. Tell me, Septa, what exactly did she confess to? What is this all for?”

The grey shadow writhed about again on the cobblestones. For an unnerving moment, she was the septa Brienne had grown up with, telling her no man would ever want her if she didn’t learn how to be a proper lady.

“The Queen Mother confessed to laying with a woman,” she said. “That is a _sin-”_

Brienne laughed, a hollow sound. “You think the gods would warrant this kind of punishment for that? You think they care - of all the injustices in the world, all the foul things we do, you think that the gods care when a woman lies with another?”

“Have you lain with her, then?” It was a faint voice, from far behind her, but it sent a damp flush of shame through her body. “You look like you’ve got the cock for it-”

 _“Oh, so what if I have?_ ” 

Two gasps from behind her. A hand clamping to her mouth - her own, she realised, clammy from Cersei’s grip.

She hadn’t meant for that to come out, hadn’t meant to roar it loud enough for them to hear all the way across the Narrow Sea. But she had. 

A hot tear dripped down her cheek like wax. Every eye had already been fixed on her, but now their gazes were searing into her very skin.

She shook her head and stiffened her sword arm, the tip of Oathkeeper still dancing under the Septa’s chin. “King Tommen himself has expressed disdain for this proceeding,” she said, searching desperately for the assurance that had driven her to speak like this in the first place. “He is the one who sent us to rescue his mother - his _mother!_ \- from the Faith. You are going against the wishes of your king and no matter how high you think you’ve built yourself, how important you think you are, you have violated the wishes of His Grace, King Tommen, by doing this. He will - there will be repercussions for that.” 

She glanced back at Jaime and Cersei. “I don’t know if that counts as treason, but-”

“Where is the High Sparrow?” Cersei seethed. “Where is he?”

“His Holiness has returned to the sept,” the Septa said. 

“Like a coward,” Brienne said. 

“We will arrest him,” Jaime said. “We have the consent of the King.”

Well, they technically didn’t, but Brienne prayed Tommen wouldn’t object. 

“Where are the goldcloaks?” His gaze was fixed on the Septa, the wildfire flickering in his eyes identical to that of his twin’s. 

“They were dismissed from their posts,” the Septa said. 

“Throughout the whole city?” Brienne said. 

“From here to the Red Keep,” she answered bitterly, and Brienne’s stomach churned at the idea of Cersei having to walk all that way with thousands of people jeering at her. The Sept was barely out of sight and she was already traumatised. 

No one was jeering now. 

Jaime loosened his grip on Cersei, unclasping himself from her shoulders and simply gripping her hand. “I’ll tell them to arrest the High Sparrow and anyone else involved in the horrific actions which have occurred in the name of the gods. We will bring you to justice, but we will have far more mercy on you than you would ever have on us.”

“Ser Jaime-”

“I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. My sister is the Queen Mother, and my nephew is the King. You have angered all of us, tried to humiliate our family and cast us down, and let me tell you and the High Sparrow and all of his pathetic followers that you are _not_ in a position to resist us or bargain with us.” His eyes scanned the crowd, as if daring the onlookers to say something, do anything to stop them. 

Brienne was suddenly hit with a wave of exhaustion, as her emotions caught up with her. She did her best to steady herself as she slowly sheathed Oathkeeper again. The septa attempted to get up, but she stumbled down, clutching her head. 

She retreated from the front of the crowd, back towards Cersei. Cersei stretched her hands out desperately, and Brienne took her in her arms, clutching her tighter than ever before. 

“Take her back to the Red Keep,” Jaime said, and Brienne nodded in understanding over the top of Cersei’s head. “I’ll deal with the Sparrows.”

“Are you sure?” she said.

“She needs to be with you right now. I can deal with them on my own. Go. I’ll meet you back there in a moment.”

“Okay,” Brienne breathed. “Right.”

The way back to the Red Keep was lined as far as the eye could see with onlookers, holding rotten food and worse, eager to shout abuse at Cersei. They must be wondering why she wasn’t there, why the spectacle had been halted. 

“We’ll go the other way,” Brienne said. “Can you walk?”

Cersei nodded shakily. 

Brienne released her from her embrace, and clasped her hand, the two of them walking away from the crowd, not looking back. 

But the second they were out of sight, Brienne swept Cersei up into her arms and carried her the rest of the way back to the castle. 

She had lain Cersei down on the bed, wrapping her in blankets, careful to touch her gently. Her handmaidens were preparing a bath for her, and Cersei had begged them not to look at her. Usually, Brienne would have scoffed at such a request, asked Cersei to be nicer to her handmaidens, but looking at her now, she completely understood. Her body was still shaking, and she felt so frail in Brienne’s arms - had she always been this thin, this delicate, compared to the hulking woman Brienne was, or was it just the fragility of her emotions pouring into her body language? 

There was a knock on the door, a clanging of metal on wood. Brienne immediately sprung up from the bed, untangling herself from the embrace she had wrapped Cersei in. 

Jaime was standing there, looking a little underdressed without his coat, and completely exhausted. 

“How is she?” he asked. 

“She’s…” Brienne glanced back at Cersei. “Honestly, not great at all.”

Jaime shook his head. “I still can’t believe they did that to her.”

“Did you manage to arrest the High Sparrow?”

Jaime nodded. “It took a lot of wrangling, but he and that Septa are in the Black Cells now, along with most of the Sparrows.”

“What are we going to do with them?”

“I don’t know,” Jaime sighed. “I suppose we’ll have to consult Tommen about that. But we don’t need to focus on that right now.”

“Lady Brienne?” 

Brienne turned around to see Cersei’s two handmaidens standing behind her. 

“Her Grace’s bath is ready.”

“Thank you. You are dismissed.”

The girls shrugged past Jaime as they scurried out, making a show of not looking back at Cersei as they exited. 

“Can I speak to her?” Jaime asked tentatively. 

“Of course,” Brienne said. “She needs you too, you know. She needs both of us right now.”

He nodded. “Cersei?”

She sat up on the bed, clutching the blankets against her chest. “Jaime. You’re back.”

Her voice was still breathy, hitching with every other syllable. 

“Hey,” he said softly, walking slowly over to the bed. “We’ve arrested the High Sparrow. It’s all right. They won’t be able to touch you anymore. None of them will.”

He reached for her hand, and she clasped it back. 

Brienne went to perch on the side of the bed, taking Cersei’s other hand. It occurred to her, then, that she would usually be the one in the middle, the paw of a golden lion in each of her hands, a head on each of her shoulders. 

But today, it was Cersei who needed that contact, that reassurance. She clung to both of them as if for dear life. 

“Now,” Brienne said. “How about that bath, huh? We should get you cleaned up.”

Cersei nodded. “Alright.”

They helped her up and walked her over to the washroom, her steps becoming a little stronger now. 

Cersei perched on the side of the bathtub, and Brienne slowly helped her shrug Jaime’s coat off. 

“Can I have that back now?” Jaime asked, and Cersei laughed a little - the first time Brienne had seen her smile since they were on the boat, pained as it was. “I’m a little chilly - though I suppose I don’t get to complain, do I?”

The coat came off slowly, and Cersei self-consciously wrapped her arms around her breasts. 

“They’ve all seen me now,” she said emptily. “All of me. All of this.”

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said. “I’m sorry we couldn’t stop them sooner, we should have-”

“This isn’t your fault,” Cersei said. “I shouldn’t have been so careless. I shouldn’t have left Tommen alone, with those _cunts-”_

“Please,” Brienne said. “Don’t blame yourself now.” She was already in a lot of pain, and she was only going to make things worse if she did this. 

Cersei gritted her teeth, and unfolded her arms. 

Obviously, Brienne had realised how awful what had happened was, but just trying to put herself in Cersei’s place made her head spin with anguish. Cersei spent so much time culminating this image, making herself one thing after another in front of other people, and sometimes it felt like she, Jaime, and her children, were the only people who got to see the real her. 

Brienne tried to imagine what it would be like if _she_ were forced to atone like that. How people would stare at her masculine, beast-like body and jeer at her the same way they had out on the streets even when she was fully clothed. 

She held Cersei’s hand, and tenderly lowered her into the water. 

“Do you have a washcloth?” she asked. 

Cersei nodded. “On the shelf.”

Jaime quickly went to fetch it, practically leaping from the side of the bath to the shelf. Brienne dunked it in the water and immediately started scrubbing at Cersei’s skin, at what she hoped was just mud or rotting fruit. 

Cersei exhaled slowly as the dirt began to come off, gripping the side of the tub. 

“They cleaned me, too,” she said. “Scrubbed me down, scraped all my hair off. This is all I have left.” She grasped hopelessly at the short tufts of hair left on her head. 

“It’ll grow back,” Jaime said. “Those fuckers probably think they’ve taken everything from you, but look at them now.”

Brienne pressed a soft kiss to Cersei’s hair, the roughness of it scratching her chin a little. 

“I know it’ll grow back,” Cersei said. “But it’s so ugly.”

“It’s not ugly,” Brienne said. “You’re still the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Cersei scoffed. “I haven’t been that in a long time. I’m not even beautiful anymore. The people out there, I heard the things they said about me. That my tits are sagging, that my stomach has gone to fat.” Her lower lip began to tremble again. “You heard the rest.”

“Well, who cares what they think? Cersei, do you think _I’m_ beautiful?”

Cersei frowned. “Of course. But-”

“The people out there. Do you think _they_ think I’m beautiful?”

Cersei thought for a second. Then, she shook her head. 

“But believe me. Take it from someone who’s spent their whole lives putting up with fuckers who think they’re ugly. I mean, even Jaime thought I was ugly at first.”

Jaime scoffed. “Difficult to believe, I know. You’re right, though. What does it matter what anyone else thinks? Besides, Brienne’s opinion is probably worth a thousand of theirs.”

Cersei chuckled again. “That’s true.”

“And, look!” Brienne fluffed Cersei’s hair with her fingers. “It’s almost like mine, now.”

Cersei made a thoughtful _hmm._ “It is, isn’t it?”

“See? Besides, like Jaime said, it’ll grow back.”

Jaime stood up, and walked over to the shelf at the wall. He picked up a bottle of something, and sniffed it thoughtfully. 

“What’s that?” Brienne asked. 

“Lavender oil,” Jaime said. Of course. Cersei’s favourite. She always seemed to smell of it, claiming it somehow calmed her down. “I would offer to, but I, uh…” He waved his golden hand. “I don’t think I’d be as good at it as I used to be.”

“Right,” Brienne said. “You want me to…”

“Please,” Cersei said, her tone thankful in a way, like Jaime had voiced what she couldn’t. 

“Of course,” she said, taking the bottle and pouring a few drops into her hands. “On your back?”

She just nodded.

Brienne leaned down, touching the soft, pale skin along the tops of her shoulders. Immediately, Cersei winced - she was very tense, Brienne could feel her tight, strained muscles under her touch. 

She lightened her touch, working her hands as delicately as she could across Cersei’s warm expanse of skin, trying to ease away the pain and tension. Her body was still shaking, even though she had stopped crying and her tears had dried on her face. 

“Is that better?” 

Cersei nodded frantically. “A little.”

“How are you feeling now?” Jaime asked, leaning a little closer to her. 

She took a moment to respond to that, seemingly taking a second to think her emotions through. “Well...I don’t feel completely empty anymore.” Brienne’s hands kneaded deeper into her back, and she sighed in relief. “Recovering from the shock, I suppose.” 

“That’s good.” Her hands were perched on the side of the tub, and Jaime reached his good hand over to clasp hers. “I’m so glad you’re alright. I don’t know what we would have done if we got there even a second later.”

“I don’t want to think about that.” She leaned forwards a little, allowing Brienne to work her hands deeper. “I don’t suppose I thanked either of you properly.”

“Thanked us?” Brienne said incredulously. “You don’t need to thank us. What were we supposed to do, leave you there? Not try to save you?”

“I should have been able to defend myself. I should have - I should have gutted the High Sparrow before-”

“No, no, no, shhh.” Jaime tightened his grip on Cersei’s hand. “You don’t need to think about that. None of us do. Just try and relax, now.”

Brienne’s gaze softened a little on the two of them, a little smile escaping into the corners of her mouth. _Gods, I love them,_ she thought. 

It was comforting, almost, to see them interacting like this. To know that they could be like this, have this level of intimacy between the two of them, without it being uncomfortable or awkward or having any unfortunate implications. She was proud of them for coming so far, really, because it took bravery to do that sort of thing. To admit to yourself that you were in a bad situation, and to get out of it, and rebuild a relationship into something new entirely. 

It also took bravery to accept not just one, but two people, into your heart, she remembered as her thoughts went back to herself. 

“Do you want me to keep going?” she asked, realising that her hands had been working of their own accord, her mind wandering. 

Cersei shook her head. “That’s enough for now, thank you.” 

Brienne removed her hands, and came to sit by the edge of the tub, next to Jaime. 

“...Can we just sit like this, for a while?” Cersei’s voice came out a little slowly, as if she felt that she was voicing an uncomfortable request. “I just need a moment.”

“Of course,” Jaime said. “Take your time. We’ll be right here.”

Later, when they’d settled down in Cersei’s bed, Cersei was once again in the middle of their embrace. Brienne honestly missed Jaime’s touch on the other side of her, felt a little unbalanced, but that was a selfish desire, really. She hadn’t just been near-traumatised. 

Jaime was fast asleep, but Cersei’s eyes were still open, the canopy of their bed reflected in them. 

“Can’t sleep?” Brienne whispered. It wasn’t as if Cersei was a stranger to insomnia, but there was a pain in her eyes, propping them open. She rubbed a circle into her hand with her thumb. 

“I keep thinking about them,” Cersei muttered. “The Sparrows. What they did to me.” There was a thinly veiled anger in her voice. “I can’t stop.”

Her hand tightened around Brienne’s. 

“Hey,” Brienne said warningly. She should have realised that once the shock resided, Cersei would be prone to her usual rage. “We’ve arrested them. It’s okay. They can’t hurt you now.”

“I want to hurt them. I keep trying to close my eyes, but every time I do, I see that fucking Septa lurking in the darkness.” Her voice was getting louder now, her eyes wider. “I keep thinking of all the different ways I could hurt her, kill her, make her feel what I felt.”

Brienne paused for a moment, trying to figure out an appropriate response. 

“You can be angry tomorrow,” she said thoughtfully. Cersei reared her head, looking over at her in confusion. “Tomorrow, you can scream at them, you can think about all the violent ways you want to kill them, you can dig your fingernails into your palms as much as you’d like. But not tonight. Let yourself be calm tonight. You’re allowed to be angry, just not now, please. Give yourself some time.”

Cersei’s eyes bore into hers, dim in the low light. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t let yourself think about them now. Save those thoughts for tomorrow. Put them to one side right now.”

She didn’t look like she appreciated Brienne’s suggestion, but she nodded begrudgingly. 

“Will you do that for me?”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Trying is good. Close your eyes, now, and if you see that Septa, or any of the Sparrows, tell yourself you’ll think about it tomorrow.”

Cersei shut her eyes slowly, and Brienne smiled. 

“Thank you,” she murmured. 

“Sleep now,” Brienne said. 

There was a silence in the darkness, for a moment, an untouchable stillness. 

“I love you.”

Brienne’s breath caught in her throat. “I love you too.”

She allowed her own eyes to close.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoah, we're at the end of Season 5! God, that was a long season. I had this chapter labelled as "Chapter 9" in my initial outline, which was...a long time ago. Damn.  
> Anyway, thank you for reading, and feedback in the form of comments or kudos would be much appreciated! <3  
> (Also, that Sansaery spinoff is definitely in the works. Watch this space :) )


	23. Onward and Upward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Lannisters (Brienne included) begin to adjust to the new normal following the downfall of the Sparrows. However, while trying to enjoy their newfound freedom, Cersei receives shocking news from Tommen that has the potential to change everything.

**Cersei**

The change had been gradual, hardly noticeable at first, but three weeks on from what she had come to refer to in her head as  _ the incident,  _ not wanting to think about it any more than that, Cersei couldn’t deny it any longer. 

Things were getting better. 

Was  _ better _ the right word? It had to be. 

There had been no shortage of political turmoil soon after, none of them foolish enough to believe it would be easy to drag the city out of the dirt. Thankfully, Tommen had come to his senses and decided it would be best to imprison the High Sparrow and everyone else involved in the ransacking of the city and the arrests of his mother and his queen. 

Cersei had quite liked the idea of flaying Septa Unella alive, but her notion had been quickly vetoed by Jaime and Brienne, and a horrified looking Tommen. But she supposed you couldn’t have  _ everything _ you wanted. 

And, well. Margaery was his  _ former  _ queen. Her disappearance, and that of Sansa Stark’s, had caused quite the stir at first, but Brienne had reasoned that they must have been able to escape from the cells while the rest of the Sparrows were preoccupied with preparing Cersei for her atonement. Or at least, that’s what she’d said to everyone on the Small Council. Cersei had heard a very different story. 

In a strange way, her machinations had worked. Sansa and Margaery had, presumably, fallen in love and fucked off to who knew where, and if they tried to return to the capital, they would certainly not be met with a warm welcome. _ Well done, Cersei. _ She might have been giving herself a little too much credit for that, but she wouldn’t ever admit it to herself. 

They had not received word from Olenna Tyrell. They had expected her to come marching into the capital from Highgarden, demanding to know what had happened to her granddaughter, but nothing. Not even a scathing raven. 

The silence was almost scarier than anything else she could have done, which had probably been her intention. 

But although the effort and the trials and the looming threat of Myrcella’s wedding (which maybe shouldn’t have been a threat, but dear gods it was  _ terrifying _ ) had been harrowing, slowly but surely Cersei had noticed things beginning to improve. 

She still had difficulty sleeping, and when she did manage to drift off, the nightmares that plagued her made exhaustion seem worthwhile. But in those waking hours, she was anchored, by her children, relishing every moment spent with them. And by Jaime and Brienne. 

As time passed, the three of them had felt more open, somehow. They’d all started sleeping in Cersei’s chambers now, the three of them no longer sectioned off in different rooms, slipping in and out cautiously when they thought no one else was looking. 

“No more hiding,” Cersei had said one day, proudly grasping Brienne’s hand and pressing a kiss to her neck in the middle of a hallway. “I’ve done enough hiding in my lifetime, and I’m sick of it. Fuck what everyone else thinks. What can they do now?”

Brienne had tentatively clutched Cersei’s hand back, Jaime on her other side, and the three of them had walked down the hallway together, wilfully ignoring the contemptuous stares they garnered. 

They hardly got the sense that people approved, or even knew the true nature of their relationship. But, hey, _fuck what everyone else thinks._ They had time, now, as the situation in King’s Landing slowly cooled down, to get used to the small mercies other couples were afforded, casual embraces and late nights and lazy mornings. 

It was a lazy morning like this when Cersei found herself waking up, actually refreshed for once, her sleep as peaceful as it was going to get.

“Mmh,” she said, her vision still cloudy from sleep. 

“She wakes!” 

“What?” She blinked the dark spots away to see both Brienne and Jaime looking expectantly at her. They were grinning - why were they grinning? 

“Your  _ hair,”  _ Brienne said. 

“Is it too much to hope it’s all magically grown back overnight?”

“It’s all messed up.” Brienne reached out a hand to smooth it out. “It just looked funny, that’s all.”

“Someone slept well,” Jaime remarked. 

“How long have you been awake for?”

“Not long,” Jaime said. “It’s just rare not to wake up with you leering over us.”   


“I do not  _ leer,”  _ Cersei said indignantly. 

“Honestly, I think you just tired yourself out last night,” Brienne said. “Which was incredible, in case you’re wondering.”

Oh, of  _ course.  _

Her eyes settled on a rather noticeable bite mark on Brienne’s neck, a yellowish bruise forming around it. 

“Oh,” she said. “That’s - maybe you should put some ointment on that.” She squinted at the mark. “Did I give you that, or Jaime?”   


“I don’t remember,” Brienne said, grinning. “I would guess you, though. You are absolutely relentless.”

Cersei chuckled. “Well, you, darling, are absolutely insatiable.”

“And whose fault is that?” Jaime’s hand snaked around Brienne’s shoulders as she spoke. 

“You’re implying it’s ours?” Jaime said. 

“I’m not implying it’s  _ not.  _ You’ve absolutely corrupted me, it’s unbelievable.”

“Corrupted you?” Cersei nestled her head on top of Jaime’s arm and into Brienne’s shoulder, which wasn’t the most comfortable of places she could have nestled her head, but it worked somehow. “I like that.”

“I was joking.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong,” Jaime said. He pressed a little kiss to Brienne’s cheek. 

“Oh, don’t you start,” Brienne said playfully, and she moved her mouth to Jaime’s, losing herself in him for a moment. 

“Hmm,” he said, against Brienne’s lips. “Definitely insatiable.”

“Insatiable enough to want to go again?” Brienne said, somewhat hopeful. “Are you sure you have the energy?”

“Is that a challenge?” Jaime said. 

“Only if you want it to be.”

“I would love it to be.”

Brienne turned to look at Cersei. “How are you…I mean, do you want to…”

“Oh, gods yes,” she said. “As if I would ever pass up such an opportunity.”   


Brienne frowned. “You can, if you want to.”

“No, I know. But this morning…” She traced a finger around Brienne’s areola, and it was only through her nightgown, but she still gasped a little. “Hmm.  _ Sensitive.”  _

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” Jaime beamed, and he dived straight under the covers. 

Brienne laughed, loud and unrestrained, at his eagerness. “That’s-” 

Her laugh quickly morphed into a very different noise. “Ohhh…”

Jaime’s head bobbed almost comically under the covers as his tongue worked over Brienne’s cunt, Brienne writhing against him, gasping melodically.

Cersei allowed her hands to get lost in Brienne, in her hair, around her neck, cupping her breasts as she kissed her way from her temple to her shoulder.

“You’d better not -  _ mmhh, yes, like that, oh... _ make another mark,” she said. “Then people really will talk.”

Cersei kissed the one she’d already made. “Good,” she said. “Then everyone will know who you belong to.”

That elicited a reaction from Brienne - her hips bucked downwards into Jaime’s mouth. “Oh, don’t stop, please, keep going…”

“I don’t think you could stop him if he tried,” Cersei said. “But who can blame him?”

Brienne looked over at her, pupils enlarged with lust and love, sharp breaths escaping her mouth. Gods, she had never looked so beautiful. So perfect.

A hand came to Cersei’s thigh, large and callused from fighting, but gentle and kind.

“Can I?” Brienne breathed.

Cersei didn’t usually like Brienne to touch her like that. She wanted to be the one giving her pleasure, wringing it out of her with her fingers and watching her come apart beneath her, or when she took it, to have Brienne’s clever tongue working on her as she instructed her, goaded her on.

Brienne knew this. That must have been why her eyes were so big and pleading. 

Cersei blinked. Then, she took Brienne’s wrist in her hand, and gently guided it towards her pearl, where wetness had been gathering for a long time now.

This was an act of trust. 

“Gently, please,” she said. “And don’t go in.”

Brienne nodded, or as best she could. Her chest was so tight and her cheeks so red, she looked like she might unravel at any moment. Jaime’s mouth still seemed to be working eagerly, the rhythm of her hips against him increasing. 

She pressed down against Cersei’s clit. 

“Shit.” The word escaped her mouth, pushed out of her lungs. 

“Is that a good shit?” 

“Keep going,” she said. Brienne stroked circles around her pearl, the pressure firm and strong. Cersei gripped the edge of her pillow as her pleasure built up, unable to control her writhing. 

“That’s it,” she coaxed. “There you go, you’re so good, so  _ perfect,  _ ah-”

Brienne’s hand trembled uncontrollably as her pleasure began to overtake her. 

“Oh,” she gasped. “One - hold on -  _ oh, Jaime…” _

Her hand jolted away from Cersei as she came, her body convulsing with pleasure as she threw her head back. The sounds she made were so beautiful - if a little loud - and Cersei found herself unconsciously rubbing her thighs together at the sight of her. The loss of Brienne’s touch had left her wet and wanting, almost desperate. 

Brienne came down from her high with little shuddering gasps. “Wow,” she said, mouth wide in disbelief. “That was...gods.”

Jaime resurfaced from under the sheets, his stubble and mouth glistening. “It was gods? That’s a new one.”

“No!” She tapped him playfully. “It was phenomenal.”

She turned to look at Cersei. “Sorry. Do you want me to-” 

“ _ Yes.”  _ She hadn’t quite meant for that to come out as a growl, but it had. “Gods, yes.”

Brienne thrust her fingers back between Cersei’s slick thighs. Once again, she bucked her hips up into Brienne’s hand, aching for release. The pleasure was stronger this time, like having it pulled from her had increased it tenfold, and the image of Brienne coming fresh in her mind only added to her desire.

“Don’t you dare stop this time.” She clenched her eyes shut. “Don’t you-”

Her orgasm blindsided her, blossoming through her like ink spilling on paper. She could hear herself crying out, but was powerless to stop it. All she could focus on was the pleasure, the beautiful hot tight wet feeling and Brienne’s hand on her pearl and the shaking in her legs. 

She sighed slowly, measured, as she came down from the high. “Oh…”

Brienne grinned. 

“What?” Her vision was still cloudy at the edges, hazy in the aftermath. 

“I’ve never seen you come before,” she said thoughtfully. “Not properly, anyway.”

Of course not. Honestly, Cersei didn’t like people seeing her face when she came, but then again, it wasn’t like many of her former lovers had actually seen her do so. Something about it made her feel uncomfortable, the idea that someone could watch her as she unravelled and catch her in that moment of blissful weakness. 

Of course, Brienne wasn’t just anyone. And she didn’t feel as though the encounter was marred by that detail. If anything, it made it better, strangely, even if she did note to herself that she would  _ definitely  _ have to make Brienne come undone beneath her like that next time. 

“Please tell me I didn’t look horrendous,” was all she said aloud, trying to put a layer of humour on the situation. 

“You looked beautiful,” Brienne said, and she pressed a kiss to the end of Cersei’s nose. 

Jaime was oddly quiet. 

“Jaime?” Cersei said. 

Brienne glanced over at him. “He’s fallen asleep again.”

Jaime made some non-committal, dazed noise which Cersei roughly translated as  _ I did not fall asleep again, I have no idea what you’re implying. _

“Oh, poor thing,” Cersei said, and he opened an eye to glare at her. “Then again, she worked you terribly hard last night.”

“What can I say?” he said. “It was...it was gods.”   


“Shut  _ up,”  _ Brienne said. 

“Make me.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“Mother?”

There was a knock at the door, and the three of them sprung away from each other. 

“Mother, are you awake?”

“Myrcella?” Cersei said, pressing a finger to her lips at Brienne and Jaime. “I - what are you doing here?”

“Meeting you? And Uncle Jaime, and Brienne, to go down to the waterfront? Like we said we would today?” 

“Where are Uncle Jaime and Brienne, anyway?” Fuck, Tommen was there too. 

“Shit,” Cersei mouthed. “What, uh, what time is it, darling?”

“Two hours to midday. We can wait a bit longer, if you need to get ready.”

“If that’s alright,” Cersei said cautiously. “We’ll meet you in the courtyard in a moment.”   


“We?”

Oh, fuck. 

There was a silence, as Myrcella seemed to realise what was going on. 

“...Right. Um. We’ll see you downstairs. Hurry up!”

“I will.”

“All of you?” 

“Shhh!” 

“What are you talking about?” Tommen said. 

A silence. 

“Ohhhh.  _ Ohhhhh. _ ”

Cersei cringed. “Sorry.”

There were footsteps, and once they had diminished enough, Cersei threw herself back on the bed. 

“What are the chances,” she said, “that all three of us forgot it was today?”   


“I remembered!” Brienne said indignantly. “I just...thought it was earlier than it was.”

They’d thought it would be nice to get to have some family time among all the wedding planning and political confusion, so they’d made arrangements to go to the seafront together, much to Myrcella’s delight. 

Cersei hauled herself out of bed, head spinning a little still. “Come on, then.”

The sun was hardly gentle that morning, but it was still beautiful, and the sea glimmered dazzlingly. The spot the five of them had chosen was a considerable distance from the Keep, a secluded bit of the shore they had all to themselves. 

Myrcella clapped with excitement the second her feet hit the sand. No matter how long she’d lived by the sea, her enthusiasm never waned, her sense of wonder never dulling. Cersei didn’t even bother to repress her own smile. 

She sprinted down the length of the beach, and didn’t stop until she was ankle-deep in the glittering water. 

Cersei felt Brienne’s hand on her arm, caressing it gently. “She looks so happy,” she said. 

“She deserves to be. I think all of this has been quite difficult for her, it’s nice to see her just being a girl again.” Myrcella was nineteen now, technically a woman grown, but how old was nineteen, really? 

Tommen was making his way over to the water now, too. 

“They both need a rest from it all,” Jaime said. “So do we, if I’m honest.”

Brienne chuckled. “Well, we certainly got a rest from it this morning. Too much of one, perhaps.”

“It was nice!” Jaime protested. “Much nicer than frantic couplings in the dead of night. Wait.” He frowned. “Not couplings. Triplings?”

Cersei scoffed. “Please never refer to our encounters as  _ triplings  _ as long as any of us live.” 

“Seconded,” Brienne said. 

“Mother!” Myrcella called from across the shore. “Are you coming?”

Cersei shook her head vehemently. “What? No. I’m not coming  _ in.” _

“Mother!” Myrcella said indignantly. “Come on!”

“Worried you’re going to get your dress wet?” Jaime japed. Well, he wasn’t wrong. 

“I-”

“Well, if you won’t, then I will,” Brienne said, and she started to walk away from them. 

She managed to get a few feet away when she turned around. “On second thought…”

“What?”

Before Cersei could utter another word, Brienne was wrapping her arms around her, sweeping her off her feet and carrying her. 

“Put me down!” she said, clinging onto Brienne’s neck for dear life as she ran across the sand. She was laughing now, though, exuberantly, and wasn’t resisting Brienne’s touch. 

Brienne’s feet soon hit the water, and Cersei felt the ghost of sea spray on her skin. 

“Please don’t throw me in,” she said, but she had hardly finished her sentence before Brienne set her down gently. 

“There we go,” Brienne said, her arm still slung around Cersei. “Careful you don’t get your skirts-”

Cersei pressed a quick kiss to her lips, and Brienne stopped mid-sentence. Her lips had been warmed by the sun, golden and gentle against Cersei’s own. 

“...Wet,” Brienne said. 

“Oh!” Cersei looked down at her dress, the hem of which was now soaked. She bunched the pink fabric quickly in her hands and pulled it out of the water. 

As her attention was diverted, she couldn’t help but notice Tommen out of the corner of her eye. He looked a little uncomfortable, and the glee that had been blossoming inside her dulled slightly. He hadn’t quite adjusted to their relationship yet, not like Myrcella had. He clearly had his reservations, and while Cersei had liked to think she’d explained it well, he hadn’t been so understanding at first.

She still hadn’t told him about who his real father was, and she didn’t think he had figured it out himself. 

_ Please, no worrying now. Enjoy this morning while you can.  _

“See?” Myrcella said. “It’s not so bad, is it?” She looked over at Jaime. “Are you coming, Uncle Jaime?”

Jaime was still standing on the sand, staring at Brienne. Was he...oh no, Cersei knew that expression. He was  _ pouting.  _

Brienne seemed to pick up on this too, and she sighed in exasperation. 

“I don’t exist to ferry Lannisters across beaches,” Brienne said. “Come on.”

Jaime stuck his bottom lip out playfully, and Brienne rolled her eyes. 

“Fine.” It was clear she wasn’t at all reluctant as she ran back onto the shore. 

It wasn’t a particularly long stretch of beach, to be fair. Besides, Jaime probably just wanted an excuse for Brienne to sling him over her shoulder. And Brienne was always more than happy to take it.

Myrcella laughed. “I didn’t think she’d actually be able to lift him!”

“Brienne is very strong,” Cersei said. “You’d be surprised.”

“I already am,” Tommen said, a little smile on his face. So he wasn’t completely out of his depth, then. Still, there was a nervousness behind his eyes. 

But Cersei allowed herself to forget about it momentarily as Brienne set Jaime down beside her. 

“Don’t I get a kiss, too?” he said. 

“Do you even have to ask?” Brienne said, and she pressed her lips to his. 

Cersei had had her handmaidens pack a breakfast for them, and once everyone was appropriately dried off, they sat around on the sand and ate it. The sun grew hotter as time went on, but the breeze grew stronger, reaching a pleasant equilibrium eventually, the wind lightly brushing through Cersei’s hair. 

Her hair was beginning to even out: while it was still short, it was much less spiky now, and she’d come to style it by sweeping her fringe over one side of her forehead so it looked a little more put together. She still hadn’t quite adjusted to it, and often found herself reaching for the mass of hair only to find it missing, but she’d almost accepted it. And besides, on a hot day like this, the coolness on the back of her neck was a small mercy. 

The second Myrcella finished her food, she stood up. “I’m going back in,” she said excitedly. “Are you coming?”

Brienne grinned, and stood up too, brushing sand off her tunic. “Of course! Lead the way.”

Gods, she was so good with Myrcella and Tommen. 

“Mother?” Tommen said. 

“Yes?” 

He looked sheepishly at Jaime, who didn’t seem to be getting up any time soon. “Is it alright if I speak with you alone for a moment?”

Jaime looked over at Cersei. “I’ll, uh-”

“If that’s alright,” Tommen said. 

“No, of course.” Jaime began to walk away. “Take your time.”

Cersei tried to catch his eyes before he left, attempting to indicate her concern and share it in some way, but she was unsuccessful. 

She felt that familiar simmering fear seeping back into her veins. 

“I…” Tommen scratched his head, clearly trying to find the right words. Every moment in which he was silent, Cersei’s heart thrummed a little more, and a fresh jolt of electricity snaked down her spine.  _ He’s disgusted by Brienne and I. He’s realised who his real father is. He hates me. He hates Jaime. He hates all of us.  _

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you about this for quite some time,” he said. He was flushed too, clearly nervous. “Obviously you’ve been busy with the Sparrows and the Faith and Myrcella’s wedding, and I kept waiting for the right time to bring this up, but I don’t think that time will ever come.” He inhaled deeply. “So I’ll just say it now.”

Cersei’s hands clenched the fabric of her dress. 

“The fact that the Sparrows managed to gain power was my fault. I was taken in by what they said, I believed that they were going to make the city a better place. I didn’t even think about it, and Margaery tried to stop me, stop them, but I didn’t listen to her. I was blinded by their lies, and I didn’t even question when they arrested her. When they said they were going to arrest you.”

Where was he going with this? 

“It’s my fault. I put my people in danger, I sat by while they were arrested and pillaged because I thought it was going to help them somehow.”

“I shouldn’t have left you,” Cersei said. “I should have realised something like this would have happened. You didn’t have enough support, or-”

“No. I was too idealistic, too stupid to realise what they were really doing.”

“You’re not stupid,” Cersei said, but he was right in a way. 

“Maybe stupid is the wrong word, but...I wasn’t raised to be king. That was always Joffrey. I wasn’t prepared for this, and even though it’s all over now I still feel like I’m not prepared. Which is why…” He gritted his teeth, as if willing himself to get the next words out. “I’ve been thinking about abdicating.”

The words hung in the air between them for a moment. 

“What?” She laughed. It wasn’t funny in any way, but she laughed anyway. “What are you talking about?”

The full extent of what he meant settled in her mind, slowly, and her mouth opened. 

“Oh.” That electricity ran back up her spine, a fresh wave of panic. “Oh.”

“I know.” He shrank back from her, looking completely humiliated. “I shouldn’t have - I shouldn’t have even brought it up. We were having a nice morning, and now I’ve gone and ruined it. I’m sorry.”

“No!” She took a deep breath, trying to steel herself. “I’m glad you told me. It’s not as though it’s been easy for you. But I think…”

What did she think? Honestly, she’d been so relieved that he hadn’t wanted to tell her that she disgusted him that she had hardly given it thought. 

The political implications could be devastating. But then again, so had his handling of the situation with the Sparrows. And while Margaery might have been gone, there would always be more people, people trying to manipulate him and use his innocence and naivety to grasp at some semblance of power. 

She glanced over to Myrcella, who was happily splashing about in the water. 

“She’d make a better queen than me,” Tommen said. “She’s cleverer than me, and the people love her.”

“The Seven Kingdoms have never had a queen regnant before,” Cersei said. “People aren’t going to like this.”

“The people will never be satisfied no matter what we do,” Tommen said, and that stung. It was such a cynical thing for him to say, and it almost pained her to hear him thinking like that. 

“It’s not the smallfolk I’m worried about,” Cersei said. “It’s the other high lords who concern me. The Tyrells have been quiet recently, but since Margaery left who knows what they’re up to?”

“Do you think she’s all right?” Tommen said. “Margaery, I mean.”

Cersei sighed. After all this time, he still hadn’t quite understood that she hated his former queen. 

“Margaery and Sansa fled the city,” she reiterated. “We know they haven’t arrived at Highgarden, which means they’ve likely gone north. I’ve no idea if they’re alive or not, but I doubt we’ll ever see them again.”

Tommen sighed. “I just wish I could have done something.”

The Martells would like Myrcella becoming queen, she supposed. And Tommen was right, people liked her, and she’d picked up a good eye for politics of late.

But plenty of people enjoyed the privilege Tommen’s naivety afforded them, and wouldn’t want him out the way. Then again, Myrcella would be easily underestimated…

“I have no idea if we’ll be able to do it,” she said frankly. “But I want you to be happy. And if we can do it, if we can somehow appease the Small Council and make the transition as smooth as possible...I mean, we can try. I can try.”

“You’ll do it?” He seemed to perk up immediately. 

“If it’s what will make you happy.”

“It will.”

She beamed. “Then I will do everything in my power to help you.”

Tommen pulled her into a hug, and she could feel his cheeks pulled into a smile against her own face. “Thank you. Thank you.”

It would be difficult, but she would certainly try. And if anyone tried to get in their way...well, she would figure something out. She would have to. 

She glanced over one more time at Jaime, Brienne and Myrcella. Not now, though. She couldn’t bring herself to start thinking about politics and court again yet. 

So she pulled out of the hug and got to her feet. “Well? Are you coming?”

The two of them ran back over to the sea, and this time Cersei remembered not to let the hem of her dress get wet. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry that my updating schedule has been kind of all over the place lately. Feel free to leave a comment with feedback if you'd like!


	24. Interregnum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei, Brienne and Jaime interrupt a Small Council meeting in order to navigate the muddy political waters Tommen's abdication has put them in, and Cersei receives a friendly reminder of the consequences of anger and paranoia.

**Cersei**

For someone who hadn’t known she was going to be Queen until a few days ago, Myrcella was taking this whole “Tommen abdicating” business rather well. She hadn’t seemed overly excited at the prospect, but she hadn’t been upset, either. 

“I don’t want to make you do anything you don’t want to do,” Cersei had said. 

“I’ll do it,” Myrcella said with a resigned smile. “Tyene once told me I’d make a good queen. I didn’t believe her at the time, but I suppose we’ll have to see.”

Cersei put a comforting hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “I have no idea who Tyene is, but she’s definitely right.”

“Tyene Sand? She almost killed Brienne back in Dorne, don’t you remember?”

“Oh, Tyene _Sand?_ ” Cersei nodded at the vague memory. “I do remember her. Well, she’s correct. You will be an incredible queen, and I will do everything I can to support you.”

She’d wrapped her daughter in a comforting hug, and that had been that. 

That had all been well and good, which had made Tommen very happy. The only matter to deal with now was the Small Council. Where had they been, while the Faith was taking control of the city? Had they even lifted a finger against them, or were they too busy dealing with their own pathetic problems while they corrupted her son and made plans to humiliate her? 

_It doesn’t matter,_ she tried to tell herself. _The Sparrows are all gone now, imprisoned in the Black Cells where the worst thing they can harm is a rat._

The problem was, they couldn’t exactly spring it upon them. They would say the Lannisters had schemed behind their back and acted without their permission, and that would do nothing to aid Myrcella’s situation. They needed some sort of approval from the Council, and while there was nothing those fools could _really_ do about it, she would still have to grovel to them now so Myrcella wouldn’t be cast down later. 

To do that, she would need support, in the form of the two people she trusted most in the world, one of whom _technically_ had a position on the Council, and one of whom was trusted by the people on it far more than Cersei would ever be. She needed Jaime and Brienne.

Myrcella had declined to speak to the Council then, deciding it would be better if she did it by herself. If she spoke too little, they would claim Cersei was trying to use her for her own gain, and if she spoke too much, they would try and twist her words. So it was just the three of them who approached the chamber at midday, uninvited and mostly unwelcome. 

“Cersei,” Brienne muttered as they neared the doorway. “I trust your judgement, but can you please try not to do anything irrational?”

“I will do my best,” Cersei said, teeth gritted. “On the condition that they remain civil towards us, which I invariably doubt they will.”

Brienne sighed. “Just try.”

She would do her best to abstain from any irrational decision-making, but she would certainly not remain civil towards these fools. They had never extended that courtesy to her, and she knew all the things they said about her behind closed doors. Even though she had been saved from her walk of atonement, she still knew people mocked her for it, laughed at the woman who had been paraded naked through the streets and repeated the terrible words that had been hurled at her. 

The memory coiled tightly within her stomach, which only served to increase her already simmering anger. 

“...they should have left Qyburn to rot in the cells with the rest of them, that’s what I think. He’s worse than Varys, let me tell you that, and no one gets removed from the Citadel without good reason. And I mean no offence to you, Lord Kevan, but the nerve of your niece to parade her filth around court like she hasn’t a care in the world is, quite honestly, shocking. Just because we can’t do anything about it does not mean we should have to see their vile displays of-”

“I’m sorry?” Cersei stormed into the room without a second thought, leaving Jaime and Brienne to speed up behind her. “What was that, Maester Pycelle?”

Everyone at the table looked up, a guilty silence spreading across the room like a thick fog. Cersei surveyed their expressions - Pycelle, her uncle Kevan, and Mace Tyrell. This was what the Small Council had come to? Three incompetent idiots sitting around a table swapping insults about her, getting absolutely nothing done. 

They all stared at her as she looked on them silently, daring them to say another word. 

“What are you doing here?” Kevan said.

“Isn’t it obvious?” She tilted her head. “We intend to speak to the Small Council.”

“You have no position here.”

“I am Lord Commander of the Kingsguard,” Jaime said. “The Lord Commander has a position on the Small Council. I have just as much of a right to be here as you do.”

“And what is this…” Pycelle’s eyes raked over Brienne’s figure. “...this woman doing here? If, indeed, she is a woman? I don’t mean to presume-”

“My name is Lady Brienne,” Brienne said. Her teeth were just as gritted as Cersei’s now - understandably so, Cersei had forgotten what a cunt Pycelle could be. “I am a close friend of Cersei and Jaime. But you already know that, don’t you, Maester Pycelle?”

“A friend,” Kevan said with a sardonic smile. 

“Yes,” Cersei said. “And if you mean to insult us, _Uncle,_ do it to our faces, not behind our backs like a coward.” She gave a little chuckle. “Oh, wait a moment. All three of you sat by and watched while the Sparrows planned to arrest me - while your own daughter was arrested, Lord Tyrell - and didn’t lift a finger. ‘Coward’ would be correct.”

Mace Tyrell’s eyes shifted downwards. Cersei catalogued that in her mind. 

Her uncle glared up at her. “If you seem so desperate for me to insult you, I shall.” His eyes flickered between the three of them. “I don’t know what you and Jaime think you’re doing with this beast of a woman - no, that’s not right. We all know far too much about what you’re doing, because of your insufferable insistence on...on _parading your filth_ around court, holding hands with her and kissing her at dinner where we all have to be subjected to this-”

“I am in the room,” Brienne snarled. “Speak about me as such.”

Cersei felt a flicker of pride at hearing Brienne stand up for herself: she was so soft and gentle around her sometimes that she forgot what a ferocious woman she truly was. 

Kevan inhaled, clearly on his last nerve. “Cersei, just because we cannot do anything about your perversions, it does not mean we have to be exposed to them all of the time. It’s bad enough that the Faith found out that you’d-” He couldn’t even speak the next few words, so he just thinned his lips, clearly disgusted. 

He sounded like her father. Her chest burned tighter at that memory, of her telling her father she liked women, how hollow she had felt inside and how much his disgust nearly broke her. 

“Anyway. The details don’t matter. The point is, you are bringing shame upon our house-”

“Our house?” Jaime stepped towards the table. “It’s our house now, is it? What have you done to protect it, then Uncle Kevan? Enlighten me, I’m afraid I can’t quite recall.”

Kevan was silent. “I am Hand of the King-”

“And I am Queen Mother.” She wrung her hands together, her palms already clammy. “We did not come here to trade childish insults. We came here to discuss more serious matters, but I can see that you’re hardly prepared for that sort of thing.”

Mace Tyrell scowled up at her. “What do you want, then?”

Cersei walked over to the table and sat down on an empty chair. 

“What are you doing?” Pycelle asked. 

She raised her eyebrows. “Sitting at a table? Am I not allowed to do that now?”

“You are not welcome here-”

“We have every right to be here.” She looked up at her brother. “Don’t we, Jaime?”

“Of course we do.” He took a seat next to her, and Brienne followed him over. 

“Well?” Kevan was clearly getting quite exasperated. _He’s the one who insisted on drawing out talk of my perversions._ “Get on with it.”

Cersei sucked in a breath. “Tommen has voiced his concern regarding his role in the situation with the High Sparrows. He regrets how he handled the situation. I know you were busy burying your pitiful little heads in the sand, but it was quite devastating for this city.”

“We helped you to arrest them-”

Brienne scoffed. “You did not. You stood by and watched while we rounded them up and enacted their trials. Observing is not the same as helping.”

Everyone stared at her. Cersei suppressed a little smile, and she could see that Jaime was doing the same. 

“I still don’t understand what _she_ is doing here,” Pycelle said. He had ended up seated next to her, and both of them looked intensely uncomfortable about the arrangement. 

“She is here under my invitation,” Jaime snapped, at the same time as Cersei gripped the edge of the table and said “She has more of a right to be here than you do.”

Mace huffed. “If we can please just get on with-”

“Tommen wishes to abdicate.”

_“What?”_

“He wishes to abdicate. You do know what the word abdicate means, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Kevan snapped. “There is no need for you to be so insufferable, Cersei.”

“Tommen has felt uncomfortable with his role as king for a while now,” Jaime said, stepping in swiftly. “He feels as though he has let the Seven Kingdoms down, and he has nothing but the best intentions towards his subjects through making this decision.”

“I don’t see why he can’t tell us that,” Mace said. 

“Because if he did, you would twist his words against him and convince him that he was making the wrong decision.”

“And how do we know you haven’t done the same?”

Cersei wrung her hands in frustration. “What could I possibly have to gain from this? I just want my son to be happy. Is that wrong somehow?”

“Well,” Maester Pycelle said, and Cersei instinctively rolled her eyes. What was he doing on the Small Council, anyway? What had he ever contributed? “It would appear to me that the problem lies in who would succeed him. Now, the Baratheons have some-”

“Myrcella will,” Cersei said. “She is next in line, and Tommen has named her as his successor. There will be no problems there.”

The Council exchanged some uncertain looks. 

“Is there a problem?” Brienne said.

“You are aware she will be the first Queen Regnant of the Seven Kingdoms?”

“Yes, funnily enough I do know the history of the realm I was queen of for twenty years.”

Kevan sighed. “This will be very controversial.”

“Which is why no one outside of this room finds out about it until it’s all over.”

“Brienne turned to look at her, slightly confused. “What?”

Ah. She hadn’t quite discussed that part with Brienne or Jaime yet. In her defense, she’d only just thought of it, and the second it had entered her mind, she hadn’t been able to dismiss it.

“You’re right about one thing, Uncle Kevan, people aren’t going to like this. As we have seen lately, this city is full of parasites trying to crawl their way to power who will take any temporary gap in power as an invitation. We cannot let that happen, and it would be in the best interest of everyone in this room to keep quiet about it.”

There was a strange excitement running through her now, her blood singing with the thrill of lording political power over these people, of knowing she was right and ensuring her daughter’s ascension. The Cersei that dealt with the realm of politics was very different to the Cersei she was with her family and with Brienne, and while that latter version of herself felt more comfortable, more real, she’d missed that electrifying feeling.

“What if we’re not happy with this decision?” Pycelle said.

“Then you will be violating the will of the king,” Cersei said. 

“It is our job as the Small Council to advise the king-”

“And it is Tommen’s job to make that final decision.”

“Why would you tell us this, anyway?” Kevan interjected. “If it’s such a delicate matter, why not keep it to yourself?”

“What are you implying?”

“I don’t know, Cersei, but I can’t help but feel as though there’s something else going on here.”

“Something else?” She gritted her teeth. “What else could possibly be going on here? These are my children I am talking about - you really think I would use their wishes against them?” She glared at the three of them, doing her best to unnerve them. How dare they assume she was using her son’s distress for her own benefit. How dare they make these accusations towards her? “And how do I know that none of you would use that opportunity, either? An opportunity is an opportunity, and you’re all playing the same game as we are. Perhaps not you, Maester Pycelle, but-”

“Cersei,” Brienne hissed. 

The thrill stopped abruptly, fizzling out in her bloodstream. 

She looked up at Brienne, and her eyes were filled with something resembling disappointment. 

Cersei unclenched her hands. She was used to people glaring at her - with contempt, anger, resentment, perhaps, but never disappointment, not in this setting, anyway. Seeing it in Brienne’s gaze stung, and she fell silent. 

She had gone too far, she realised with a shaky breath. Kevan and Mace probably hadn’t even been considering using the shift in power to their own advantage, and if they had, it would likely have made little difference. While she was right in the fact that they were playing the same game as her, not everyone thought about it in the same way as she did and had convinced themselves that everyone but them was the enemy. 

She reiterated Kevan’s words in her head: _there’s something else going on here._ He hadn’t mentioned her, hadn’t accused her of anything. 

She nodded silently at Brienne, a quiet _thank you._

Kevan sighed. “You’ve made your point. We are incapable of changing this situation.”

“I’m glad you took something away from our conversation.”

“It doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Mace huffed. 

“No, it doesn’t. But you agree, then, to our - to my terms? That the first anyone else hears of this is from Tommen himself?”

She tried to cover up any fear lingering in her voice. 

Kevan nodded reluctantly, and Mace followed him.

“We do,” Mace said. “But-”

“Excellent,” Cersei said. Her head snapped towards Maester Pycelle. “And you?”

He clenched his jaw for a moment, but nodded after some deliberation. “I suppose I will have to concede.”

_When Myrcella becomes queen,_ Cersei thought, _I must advise her to remove him from the Council. He has contributed nothing but the stench of dead cats and piss to this realm._

“Good,” she said. “Thank you for listening to us.”

Kevan got out of his chair abruptly, the legs scraping on the floor. “Believe me, the pleasure was _not_ all mine.”

Cersei eyed them suspiciously as they filed out of the room. She thought that perhaps if she glared at Pycelle hard enough he would shuffle out of the meeting faster and she wouldn’t have to deal with the sight of him anymore, but her efforts proved to be unsuccessful. 

As soon as they were gone, and it was just the three of them spaced awkwardly around the table, Jaime exhaled loudly. “I am so sorry, Brienne. They had no right to talk about you like that, I - you shouldn’t have had to hear that.”

“I’ve been called worse by better,” she said, and the grit of her teeth and the glare in her eye conveyed a thousand unspoken remarks. “You’d think I was used to it by now.”

Something resembling guilt nudged at Cersei - she’d been too caught up in her own problems, in trying to score cheap points against her uncle that she’d completely overlooked the impact his words might have had on Brienne. 

“You shouldn’t have to be used to it,” Jaime said. 

Brienne scoffed a little. “I appreciate your sympathy, Jaime, but those are very bold words coming from someone like you.”

He thought for a moment, mulling her words over. “That’s fair. But it doesn’t change that that kind of...slander, really, is unacceptable.”

“Gods, I hope Myrcella throws the lot of them out of her Small Council,” Cersei almost spat. “I would.”

“She’ll have to choose a new Hand,” Jaime said. “I mean, if she wants to, which she probably will.”

“Anyone would be preferable to our uncle,” Cersei said. “I only hope she chooses someone...sensible.” Her gaze flickered to Brienne, and it lingered there longer than she meant it to. 

_No, hold on. That isn’t a bad idea._

Brienne seemed to notice what she was doing, and her eyebrows flew up. “What - you can’t possibly be implying-”

“If I were Queen, you’d be my Hand,” she said offhandedly. 

“You are incredibly biased,” Brienne said. 

“Me too,” Jaime said, “if it counts for anything.”

No, she couldn’t make Brienne do that. It had been a silly idea, really, to even imply it, to put her in an uncomfortable position like that. But the more she thought about it, the better it sounded, and she couldn’t think of a better alternative. 

“Is that a no?” Cersei said. “If Myrcella asked you, you wouldn’t do it?”

“ _Cersei,”_ Jaime said warningly. “Don’t get carried away, please.”

There was an insistence in his voice, and she retreated. This was the wrong time to have this conversation, certainly. She was in the wrong mindset, and she’d put Brienne on the spot, which was unfair. 

She nodded, looking up at the two of them. “I’m sorry.”

It was still going around in her mind, the idea of Brienne as Myrcella’s Hand. But she willed it to rest for now. 

“One thing I will say,” Brienne said. “The Hand of the King - or Queen - has never had the best record of staying alive.”

Cersei chuckled. “You aren’t wrong there. Though maybe it means Uncle Kevan will get his comeuppance eventually.”

Brienne clenched her jaw. “I’m sorry you had to hear what he said about _you._ That was...unpleasant.”

“I wish I could say I’d been called worse by better too, but...well. I’ve certainly been called worse, is all.”

Brienne’s eyes widened suddenly. “Oh, gods. Please tell me you didn’t mean _you_ were going to do something awful to Kevan. It’s not worth it, really.”

There was a look of genuine concern in her eyes, like she really thought Cersei would try something, try to get revenge on her uncle for daring to insult Brienne like that. 

She wanted to. She wanted him and Pycelle and Mace Tyrell and all those little people in the streets of King’s Landing and the Sparrows in the cells below them to feel exactly what she’d felt, for the harsh impact of their words on her mind to reflect on their bodies. She’d wanted to blow the Sept of Baelor sky-high, watch it dissolve into ash and crumble to the ground for what it and the people inside it had done to her. When Brienne had first told her about all the awful things people had said and done to her, one quiet night on the trip over to Dorne, how they’d placed bets on her virginity and laughed cruelly at her while she danced, she’d felt that same anger rising in her chest, the desire to choke the life from them the way they’d choked Brienne’s self-worth from her mind. 

But wanting something and doing something were two different things, she’d learned. It would bring her gratification, there was no denying that, but the concern in Brienne’s bright blue eyes made that gratification seem completely unappealing. 

Brienne gave her the privilege of being able to second-guess herself. Long ago she’d cursed herself for that, for being so susceptible to her own emotions and for letting Brienne sway her. Now she was almost grateful for it, the way it took the edge off her rage. Rage was just as painful an emotion as sadness, she’d come to realise. 

“Cersei?” She waved her hand in front of Cersei’s face. “I didn’t mean-”

“Thank you,” Cersei said. “For stopping me back then.”

Brienne frowned. “You’re...welcome?”

“You sound surprised.”

She blinked a few times. “I suppose I thought you’d be annoyed by it, above anything else.”

“Me too.” Jaime frowned at her, as if to ask _are you feeling quite alright?_

Cersei shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know what I would have said if you hadn’t stopped me. It’s not - it’s not that important, I don’t even know why I’m still thinking about it, it just struck me for some reason.”

“I think you don’t know when to stop,” Jaime said thoughtfully. “But maybe you’d like to.”

Cersei didn’t quite have a response to that, so she just nodded pensively. His gaze was settled on Brienne, even as he spoke of Cersei, and it reminded her that she wasn’t the only one Brienne had irreparably changed. 

There was a strange silence between the three of them for a moment, the unsaid words hanging in the air enough. 

Cersei turned to the head of the table, where the king’s chair sat empty. “Myrcella will be sitting there in a few days’ time.”

“You think she’ll be alright?” Brienne said. 

“I can only hope,” Cersei said. “She seemed to be when I spoke to her before.”

“I think the best we can do is...see how it goes, and do the best we can to help her,” Jaime said. 

Cersei wasn’t even sure what the extent of the difficulties Myrcella would face were. They weren’t in the midst of a war, but the Seven Kingdoms weren’t exactly peaceful, either, and that wasn’t even considering the people _inside_ the Keep who could pose just as much of a threat. 

But Jaime was right. Myrcella knew she had their support whenever she might need it, and they had the element of surprise to their advantage. 

She just hoped that _the best they could do_ was good enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! And thank you for the positive reception of A Rose That Blooms in Winter - I'm glad it's something people want to read and I'm excited to see how these two stories work together even while they're more separated. Much love to everyone who reads my works: it really means the world to me.


	25. Long May She Reign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommen makes an unnerving discovery on the morning of Myrcella's coronation. Cersei finds her life changed forever after Myrcella makes a difficult decision.

**Cersei**

Myrcella looked absolutely stunning. 

She was a vision in pink and gold, her silk dress embroidered with shimmering flowers and stags across her back and shoulders, the intricate weavings telling a story of their own. 

When her handmaidens were finished with her preparations and walked out, Cersei couldn’t contain the proud smile spilling across her face.

“Is it alright?” Myrcella asked nervously. 

“You look beautiful,” Cersei reassured her. 

“You have to say that,” Myrcella said, playfully rolling her eyes. 

“You do!” Cersei clutched her daughter’s hand. “You look every inch a queen. Doesn’t she, Tommen?” 

Tommen nodded. “Of course you do. Better than I did when I was crowned.”

“Were you nervous?” she said. “Because I feel like I might faint.”

“Oh, gods yes,” Tommen laughed. “I thought my heart was going to jump straight out of my chest. But you’ll be fine, I promise.”

She smiled. “Thank you.”

She pulled her brother into a quick, tight hug. 

“How did they take the news?” she said, as she moved away from him. 

“They were shocked, to say the least,” Tommen said. “But like Mother said, there’s nothing they can do about it. And they seemed to understand where I was coming from.”

Tommen had assembled the court the day before to announce that he was abdicating, which had gone surprisingly well, considering the unpleasant reaction of the Small Council. In all honesty, after the mess with the High Sparrow, it seemed that the nobles and the smallfolk would welcome a change in leadership, especially if it was to Myrcella, who was like a beam of sunshine breaking through the dark clouds that had hovered over the city. The coronation would begin in little under an hour, and Cersei had been by Myrcella’s side all morning helping her prepare. She was probably more nervous than her daughter, which seemed to be a difficult level of nervousness to surpass, and she had been suppressing the urge to drink all morning, to dull her nerves and ease her mind. But that wouldn’t help, she’d realised, not in the long run, so she’d dug her nails into her palm and suffered the raised eyebrows of Myrcella’s handmaidens when she refused the wine they offered.

A knock at the door broke through her thoughts. 

“That’ll be Jaime and Brienne,” she said, and she quickly went to open it. 

Sure enough, they were standing there, looking thoroughly exhausted. 

“That took longer than expected,” Jaime said. “Turns out, rounding up the entire Kingsguard in preparation for an impromptu coronation is more difficult than it might seem.” 

“How is she?” Brienne asked anxiously. 

“She’s...nervous,” Cersei said. “But come in, please.”

“Oh,” Jaime said, catching sight of his daughter. “Myrcella, you look…” He smiled wistfully. “You look incredible.”

He ran over and crushed her in a hug, practically burying her face into his shoulder.

“Careful!” she laughed, but she didn’t pull away. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Jaime said. “You’re going to be amazing, really. And we’ll be there with you every step of the way. Well. In spirit.”

“I know,” Myrcella said. “I’m so lucky to have such an amazing family.”

Cersei glanced over at Brienne, who was smiling silently, watching them. 

Myrcella seemed to notice this, and she looked at Brienne, too. “That includes you,” she said. “You know it does.”

“Oh, come _here,”_ Brienne said, and she hugged Myrcella too, careful not to crease her dress or mess up her hair. 

Myrcella was lucky, wasn’t she? And so was Cersei, in a way. Lucky to be able to feel a little bit of peace on such a stressful, surely tumultuous day. 

“You look amazing, too,” Brienne said, moving back over to Cersei. “But then again, when don’t you?”

“Oh, this is just an old dress,” Cersei chuckled. “I haven’t worn it since before Joffrey died.”

It was a red, silk dress, covered in golden embroidery, the likes of which she hadn’t worn in years. It had brought her strength before, wearing the Lannister colours around court, but now it made her feel secure, at home in her own skin, not mourning or dulling herself down. She thought it looked a little awkward with the short hair, but that would just be something she would have to deal with. 

“It looks perfect. Regal, almost,” Brienne said. She pressed a kiss to Cersei’s forehead, chaste and soft. 

Cersei just smiled as she felt Brienne’s warm lips on her skin, resisting the urge to drag her mouth down to her own lips and lose herself in her touch. Myrcella and Tommen would hardly appreciate such a display of affection. 

“You don’t think I’ll upstage Myrcella, do you?” she said with a smirk. “I’d hate to do that.”

“I can’t possibly answer that,” Brienne said, “because I am definitely biased.”

“Will I have to go down on my own?” Myrcella asked, hurriedly fixing a loose strand of her golden hair. 

“I think you will, darling,” Cersei said, pulling herself away from Brienne’s attention for a moment. 

“That’s a shame,” she said. “I would have liked for you and Father to accompany me.”

“We’ll have to be seated first, Myrcella,” Jaime explained. “Like at a wedding, or-”

“What do you mean, _Father?”_

Every head snapped towards Tommen. 

An ice-cold jolt hit Cersei right in the heart, panic spreading through her. Shit. Shit. 

“You haven’t told him yet?” Myrcella asked, and Cersei and Jaime shared a frantic glance. She could practically feel the panic in the air: you could have sliced through it like butter. 

“Told me what?” Tommen looked genuinely confused. He must have at least heard the rumours, mustn't he? Myrcella figured it out, and Joffrey had confronted her about it one day…

The cold sinking feeling flowed through her stomach, bringing the tension back into her body and making her hands clasp each other desperately. 

“I would have liked to do this another way,” Cersei said bitterly. 

“There’s never going to be a good time to do it,” Jaime said. “We may as well get it over with.”

“Will someone please just explain what’s going on?” Tommen shouted. 

Cersei bit down on the inside of her cheek. She’d never really heard him shout before, not like that.

“I’m so sorry,” Myrcella said. “I didn’t realise he didn’t know.”

“It’s not your fault,” Jaime said. “We should have been honest with you, Tommen, really, we were just waiting for the right time.”

“Now’s as good a time as any,” Brienne said. 

He must know, Cersei thought. He must have some idea of what they were getting at, she could see it in his eyes. It was the same thing she’d seen in her father’s eyes when she’d told him: denial. 

“There’s no easy way to say this,” Jaime said. “But what Myrcella said-” He took a deep breath, as if willing the words to come out. “I’m your father.” 

Tommen’s face was unreadable as he took Jaime’s words in, as if he couldn’t quite decide which emotion to express. 

“Oh,” was all he said, barely a whisper of a word. 

“I know this is a lot for you to take in,” Cersei said, trying to offer some semblance of support. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for you recently. But I hope - I don’t know.” She dug her nails further into her palm. “I don’t know what I hope you can do.” 

“How long have you known?” Tommen said, turning to Myrcella. His voice was empty, hardly confrontational, and that was more unsettling than if he had shouted and roared at her.

“They told me when we were sailing over from Dorne,” Myrcella said. “But I’ve known for a long time. You must have heard the rumours.”

Tommen’s eyes flickered down. “I don’t know what I thought,” he said. “I heard them, but I thought they couldn’t possibly be true.” He looked up at Cersei. “You told me people would make up lies to bring you down, to tear us apart.”

Cersei swallowed, her throat dry and sticking. “I’m sorry we lied to you. I wish we could have been honest with you from the beginning.”

She’d done it to protect him, she knew that. If for a second she had led him to believe he was anyone other than Robert Baratheon’s son, his life would have been at risk and they would have put his head on a spike right next to hers. But she knew that probably wasn’t what he was thinking about. He must have felt betrayed. 

Brienne’s hand moved toward hers, and she clasped it desperately. Her hands must have been clammy and cold by now. 

Tommen looked between her and Jaime. “So you - you and Uncle Jaime-”

“It was a mistake,” Jaime said. “We made a lot of mistakes, for so many years, but we realised-”

“Is that what I am?” Tommen’s voice cracked a little. “A mistake?”

Cersei’s breath hitched in her throat. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Jaime said. 

“Isn’t it?”

Cersei opened her mouth, then closed it. 

“There will always be things we wish we could change.” Jaime said wistfully. He looked like he wanted to step closer to Tommen, to reach out and comfort him, but he was holding back, knowing that that wouldn’t help in the slightest. “I regret a lot of the things I’ve done - that we’ve done - and I wish we would have seen sense sooner. It would be easier that way. But if that...if those mistakes were what it took to bring you and Myrcella into this world, then I can never quite fully regret them.” He swallowed and looked down at Tommen. “And I hope you can forgive us.” 

He looked as though words had completely escaped him.

“Are you alright, Tommen?” Myrcella reached out to touch him, to affectionately pat his arm, but he pulled away from her. 

“I don’t-” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say.”

“This is a lot to take in,” Cersei said. “I understand that. But-”

He looked as though he might be sick. “I can’t - no. I need-”

Before Cersei even realised what he was doing, he pushed past her and Brienne and ran out of the room. 

“Tommen!” she said. She pulled herself away from Brienne and ran out into the corridor. “Tommen, come back!”

He turned around to look at her, eyes wide with fear. “I’m sorry. I just-”

She bunched the fabric of her skirt in her hands. “You can’t tell anyone,” she said. “You understand that, don’t you? We - if anyone finds out-”

He nodded frantically. “I won’t. But I - I need to be alone right now.” He began to back away. “I can’t-”

She nodded. “Go. We’ll see you down there.”

It killed her a little to see him so upset, dashing frantically away from them, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop him leaving. 

She willed herself to re-enter the room, to pull herself away from the image of her son running away from the truth.

“It’s not your fault,” Jaime was saying to a guilty looking Myrcella. “We would have had to tell him eventually.”

“What did he say?” Brienne asked. 

“He just wants to be alone for a while,” Cersei said. “I can understand that.”

Brienne thinned her lips. “Do you think he’ll be alright?” 

“I can’t tell,” Cersei said. “I hope so.” 

Jaime turned back to Myrcella. “When you first realised, how did you...what did you…”

She nodded grimly. “It took a while for me to accept it,” she said. “But I didn’t blame you, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

He cast his eyes downwards, clearly in some distress. 

Brienne stepped towards him, and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“You did the right thing,” she said. “And it was brave, telling him the truth. I don’t think I could have.”

“Of course you could,” he said grimly. “You’re braver than I’ll ever be.”

“Well, that’s just not true,” she said. “Come on.”

She wrapped her other arm around him, pulling him into an embrace. 

“Thank you,” he said. 

Cersei watched them for a moment, not quite wanting to interrupt them. 

“We should…” She waved a little, trying to get their attention. “We should go down to the throne room now. I don’t think we can wait any longer.”

They pulled away from each other slowly, Brienne keeping one hand in Jaime’s left. 

“Is that alright with you, darling?” She turned her attention to Myrcella. 

“Go,” she said. “I’ll see you afterwards.”

Cersei pressed a quick kiss to her daughter’s forehead. 

“I am so proud of you,” she said. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

For a second, there was something resembling doubt glistening behind Myrcella’s eyes. A flicker of fear. 

But then it was gone, and she was smiling up at her. “I won’t,” she said. “Now go.”

The throne room was abuzz with anxious chatter, golden sunlight streaming in the windows and illuminating the nobles in the audience. She, Jaime and Brienne were sitting right at the front, the steps towards the throne mere feet away from where they sat. 

Trystane Martell was sitting directly behind Cersei, and she couldn’t help but be reminded that they would be doing this again in a few weeks’ time, when Myrcella’s wedding came around. She pursed her lips at the thought of entertaining the Dornish guests who were bound to appear for that, at the idea of relenting any of Myrcella’s power as queen to the Martells the way Robert had done to her family when she had married him. 

_Trystane is not Robert. And if he turns out to be…_

Well. She’d already disposed of one Robert. Another wouldn’t hurt, if it came to that. 

“She’ll be fine,” she said, more to herself than to anyone else, trying find some semblance of reassurance.

“I’m sure she will,” Brienne said, clasping her hand. “And if not, then she has us to help her. She knows that.”

“How long do we have?” Jaime had one eye on the doors at the back of the hall, checking them furtively. “I hope she doesn’t have to wait too long. Better to get it over with if she’s nervous.”

“Tommen’s not here yet, either,” Cersei noted. 

“He’ll come,” Jaime said. “He wouldn’t abandon his sister like that. He made it clear he wanted to be there for her.”

“Um,” Brienne said, and both Lannisters quickly turned to look at her. “I’ve been thinking about what you said, Cersei. About...the business with choosing a new Hand for Myrcella. And-”

“Mother!” 

The anticipation in Cersei’s chest quickly dissolved as she turned around to see Tommen sliding into his seat next to her. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, sounding more than a little breathless. “I-”

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

He nodded. “I just needed some time to think it all over. Understand it properly.”

“And?” 

He thinned his lips. “Honestly, it’s still quite overwhelming. I’m not sure what to make of it.” He looked over at Jaime. “But thank you for telling me. For being honest.”

Jaime nodded. “I’m sorry it had to happen like this.”

“Me too. But...like I said, I’m glad you told me.”

He seemed to think that was the end of the conversation, and he turned to face the Iron Throne in front of him like the rest of the crowd, anticipating what was to come. 

Cersei allowed herself to feel a little relief, at hearing that her son had achieved some peace of mind. He would likely need more time to become accustomed to the idea, but that was completely understandable. 

“Anyway,” she said, quickly turning back to Brienne as she remembered what Tommen had interrupted, “what were you saying?”

Brienne blinked a few times, bright blue eyes glistening in the light. 

“I...I’ll do it. Be Myrcella's Hand, I mean.” She exhaled sharply. “If you still want me to.”

“You will?” Jaime asked. “You’re sure about this?”

“I didn’t want to make a rash decision,” Brienne said. “But the more I thought about what you said, it made me realise-”

The doors at the back opened with a soul-shaking thud, and the air went thick with silence. 

Tension rose in Cersei’s chest as she saw Myrcella at the back, her golden dress practically glowing. She tried to catch her daughter’s eye despite how far back she was, attempting to latch onto her and give her support. 

Myrcella took a deep breath, and began to walk. The heads of the crowd turned with her as she approached the throne, watching her like a sea of hawks. 

The image elicited a painful memory from Cersei - _being shoved onto the streets of King’s Landing, the smallfolk observing her with watchful eyes, stripped bare, the cold, unforgiving breeze against her skin -_

She blinked it away desperately. Now was no time for such an image, and she tried to force it out of her mind as Myrcella walked closer and closer to the dais. 

Her long skirt fanned out behind her as she walked tentatively up the steps, and stood in front of the throne. 

That ice-cold feeling was back, a slithering numbness of anticipation snaking its way down Cersei’s spine. 

“She looks a little ill,” Jaime whispered. Cersei could see where he got that impression: she was pale, paler than she usually was, and her hands were trembling. 

But that was normal, wasn’t it? She was about to become queen of the Seven Kingdoms. 

Kevan was standing next to the throne, clutching Myrcella’s golden crown, the Hand in the usual place of the High Septon. _That’ll be Brienne standing there soon,_ Cersei thought smugly, _that Hand brooch attached to her tunic._

He began to give his speech, holding the crown inches away from Myrcella’s head. Cersei couldn’t help but feel it was an awfully long speech - had Tommen’s coronation been so drawn out? She couldn’t remember. 

That felt like decades ago. She was almost a completely different person now - so much had happened in that time. 

_No, I remember that day,_ she thought. _It was the day I saw Jaime and Brienne fighting for the first time. How I hated her then._

Had she loved her, even then? She had never been able to pinpoint the moment she had begun to harbour these confusing feelings, only the moment she reluctantly accepted them. Oh, how things had changed. 

“I now proclaim Myrcella of the houses Baratheon and Lannister-” - a subtle gulp from Tommen - “first of her name, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, and the protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

He began to lower the crown onto her head. “Long may she-”

“Wait!”

Myrcella held up a hand, almost shoving the crown away from her. 

A gasp came from the audience, and Cersei turned to glare at them. No one noticed her, they were all transfixed on Myrcella. 

“What happened?” Brienne asked frantically. “Is there - did she-”

Myrcella squeezed her eyes shut, every muscle in her face pulled as tight as a string. 

“I thought I could do this.” The words were more to herself than to the crowd. “I really thought I could do this.”

She swallowed. “But this isn’t right.”

_No, Myrcella,_ Cersei thought, panic freezing her mind over. _Don’t. Whatever you’re about to do -_

“My brother Tommen was right to abdicate,” she said, “because it was what he wanted, and what he felt would be best for the Seven Kingdoms. I did not oppose his judgement then, and I do not oppose it now.”

“What is she doing?” Jaime muttered, his concern softer than Cersei’s. 

“But now I’m here...” She looked behind her, at the Iron Throne, looming over her like a shadow. “This isn’t right either. I know many of you believe I will be a good queen, a just queen, and I want to believe that’s true. But I have no experience. I want to do right by my subjects - if even you are my subjects - and…” She trailed off, lost for words. “I’m sorry. I wish I could explain it better. But I will not become queen today.”

“No,” Cersei breathed. She once again tried to latch onto her daughter’s eyes - _undo this now, stop this at once._

But there was no taking back the words she had said, now. Even if she rescinded them and chose to sit on the throne, it was a confession that the people would never unhear. 

“However,” Myrcella said, her voice quivering desperately “there is someone here who I think - no, I know - would make a better ruler than I. Who has years of experience, who understands the threats to the realm and to our people, and who is one of the cleverest people I know.”

It was only then that Myrcella returned her mother’s gaze. 

_Oh. Ohhhhh._

“Mother…” She seemed as though she couldn’t even say the next words. 

_No,_ was Cersei’s first thought. _Can she do this? Can she make that decision? I don’t want -_

_Oh, but I do. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, more than anything._ She glanced at Brienne. _Almost more than anything. I used to dream of sitting on the Iron Throne, high above them all. I married Robert, I became queen, it wasn’t enough. It was never going to be enough._

_Queen Regent, Queen Mother, Queen Consort -_ _Any queen with another word after it isn’t queen at all. She’s just a pretty placeholder._

The silence of the room buzzed in her ears. It was as if every single person in the throne room had a pillow clamped over their mouth, hardly daring to breathe, let alone whisper. 

She rose out of her seat, her hands shaking. 

“Cersei,” Brienne whispered to her. “Are you sure?”

She paused for a moment. Every eye was on her now, on the bright Lannister red of her dress shining like a beacon throughout the room. 

She nodded slowly. _I’m sure._

With that, she turned and began to walk up the steps. She was almost grateful she didn’t have to walk all the way down the aisle - she would have been able to feel those eyes searing into her then, their disapproval and hatred branding her. 

But a part of her delighted in knowing that there was nothing any of them could do about this. She should have been preoccupied with the implications of this, perhaps, how people would take it and the unrest this decision could cause, but the thrill in her blood numbed all those potential fears and sent them cowering to the back of her mind. 

Kevan stood there before her, looking for all the world like someone had just defecated right in front of him. 

He was still holding the crown - the Baratheon crown, she noted. She would have to get a new one made. 

Myrcella’s green eyes were still full of concern, glistening a little with the threat of tears. 

“You mean it?” Cersei said tentatively.

Her daughter nodded. “More than anything. I can take it back if you want me to. I - I can’t unsay what I said, but I can rescind my words. I can be queen.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Everyone was watching them still, she could feel their gazes on her skin.

But she pulled her daughter into a hug anyway. “Thank you,” she whispered into her ear.

Myrcella nodded. “I mean what I said. I know you. I trust you.”

_You don’t know me,_ she thought, rather cynically. _You don’t know the full extent of who I am. Some would say this was a terrible idea, giving me all this power._

She broke out of the hug and finally turned to face the captive audience. 

_But they don’t know who I am, either._

In the endless constellation of eyes in the crowd, she locked onto the two brightest, bluest stars in the front row. 

“I…” Kevan was stumbling over his words a little. “I now proclaim Cersei of the house Lannister, Queen of the Andals and the First Men, Protector of the Seven Kingdoms.”

He placed the golden crown on her head, and the cold sting of the metal was so, so soothing on her skin. 

The air was still thick with tension. Her eyes darted around the crowd, trying to see the expressions of her onlookers. There was fear, disgust, distaste, excitement, hatred, pride, envy. 

But those who mattered, in the front row, metres away from where she stood, looked upon her with love.

“Long may she reign.”

She sat down on the throne behind her, hardly able to believe the feeling of the metal against her body. 

_This is real,_ she thought, as she ran her hands along the cold armrests. _This is really happening. I am the queen. Not just the queen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. By my own right._

The tentative words of the crowd echoed throughout the room and deep inside her mind. 

“Long may she reign!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, feedback in the form of comments or kudos would be appreciated :)


	26. A Welcome Surprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Jaime and Cersei's nameday, and Brienne has a surprise planned for her two lovers, as Cersei settles into her new role as Queen.

**Brienne**

At first, Brienne hadn’t been sure what to make of Cersei becoming queen. The initial shock hadn’t given her much time to dwell on it in the moment, and she hadn’t come out of that shock until the Hand brooch was already attached to her tunic. 

Not that that meant she regretted agreeing to it, because she didn’t. Cersei made it clear that Brienne could take it back whenever she wanted, but she didn’t think she’d ever want to. She’d always thought of herself as a fighter, not a thinker, but she’d realised lately that she could be both. 

And, honestly, Cersei needed that kind of level-headedness around her. Their relationship had always worked that way, a balance of give and take, Brienne calming Cersei down and providing her with logic and reason while Cersei brought Brienne up and reminded her of her worth and strength. If that symbiosis worked as well in the realm of politics as it did within their relationship, combined with Jaime’s support and experience, Brienne could see Cersei’s rule of Westeros being more successful than anyone could have anticipated. 

Not everyone was so convinced, though, and many nobles had voiced their concerns. Brienne could see where they were coming from - Cersei didn’t exactly have a great record of stability or kindness, although that could be said of most of them, too - but that just gave her more of an incentive to do right by her position and to prove them wrong. 

The days after the coronation had passed agonisingly slowly, but perhaps some of that was down to Brienne’s own anticipation for one particular day, for which she had been planning even before Cersei’s coronation. 

“Happy nameday,” she said to Jaime casually, as they sat side by side at the Small Council table, alone in the room for now, hands clasped together on the tabletop. 

Jaime’s head snapped up to look at her. “What?”

“Happy nameday.” She raised her eyebrows at him playfully. “It is your nameday today, isn’t it?”

He frowned at her. “How did you know-”

“You told me when we were travelling back to King’s Landing.” He still looked uncertain. “You went into a whole spiel about how today was your nameday and you should be celebrating with your sister or something.”

“Was this before or after…” He looked down at his hand. 

“Before, I think. It is today, isn’t it? You weren’t just...babbling deliriously?”

“No, no, you’re right.” He chuckled a little. “I thought I would have remembered telling you is all. That might be the  _ delirious  _ part coming into play. I probably wasn’t very nice about it, was I?”

“No worse than usual.” Her eyes widened suddenly as she realised the implications of what he had said. “Although I think I might have misinterpreted what you meant by  _ celebrating.” _

“Oh, gods,” Jaime said, hanging his head. “I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She pressed a kiss to his cheek. Showing affection in public, even when there was no one else around, had daunted her at first, but she was warming up to it eagerly. “Because I may or may not have a little...surprise, for you tonight.”

“For me?”

“And Cersei. Both of you.”

“Well, what is it?”

“You do know what a  _ surprise _ is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. I’m not as stupid as I look.”

“You’re not stupid at all,” Brienne reassured him, which was true. He didn’t quite have the cunning and calculation the other Lannisters seemed to have, but he had a certain emotional intelligence and insight, and he had a quick wit. “But you are impatient, and you  _ will  _ have to wait and see.”

“You could at least give me a hint.”

“Hmm…” Brienne pondered for a moment, trying to think of a subtle way to imply what she had in store for them. “No, I don’t think I will.”

Jaime grinned. “Have I mentioned that I love you?”

“You might have, once or twice.”

He pressed a kiss to her nose, the rough stubble on his chin scratching her a little. 

“Well, I can see this meeting is off to a productive start.”

Brienne broke away from Jaime and whipped her head around to see Cersei standing at the door. 

“Cersei!” She leaped out of her chair and walked towards her, trying to hide the bound in her step. She had been so tempted to tell Jaime what she was doing, to see his reaction, but she had to contain herself. “Happy nameday.”

“Is that today?” She furrowed her brows in confusion. “I’ve been so busy lately, I almost forgot. I haven’t celebrated it in a long time.”

Jaime scoffed from behind them. 

“Something funny?” his sister said derisively. 

“Don’t you dare,” Brienne chuckled at him. He sighed in mock irritation. 

“She says she has a surprise for us,” Jaime piped up. “For later.” 

“Does she?” Cersei looked up at her. “And what does this surprise entail?”

“I see a shaky understanding of the word  _ surprise  _ seems to run in the family,” Brienne said. “And impatience, at that.”

Cersei laughed. “No, I don’t suppose either of us have ever been very good at that. But can you blame us?”

“Can you at least give us a clue?” Jaime huffed. “Will I need to shirk my Queensguard duties?”

“You won’t need to shirk anything,” Brienne said. “Just come to our chambers whenever you’re done - and that’s  _ all  _ I’m telling you, Jaime, so don’t push it.” 

“Come to our chambers?” Jaime raised his eyebrows. “So it’s  _ that  _ type of present?”

Brienne huffed, and walked back over to the table. “We are technically at a Small Council meeting. Both of you need to control yourselves.”

“Or what?” Jaime said as she sat down next to him. She tapped him on the arm, hardly able to believe his nerve. 

“The others will be here soon, anyway,” Cersei said. “Qyburn, and Mace Tyrell, and-”

“Mace is still on the Council?” Jaime asked. 

“Unfortunately, I can’t be advised by you alone.” Cersei took her seat at the head of the table. “Until I find someone better to fill his position, he will remain where he was. Kevan, too, although he’s only the Master of Laws now.”

“What about Myrcella?” Brienne suggested. “She’s got a good mind for politics, if not for being Queen.”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Cersei said. “I’ll ask her later. Thank you, Brienne.”

“I suppose that’s my job now,” she said. “To advise you.”

“And distract me from my own job, apparently,” Cersei chuckled. 

“I’m terribly sorry.”

“I’m sure you can find a way to make it up to me.” When had Cersei gotten so close to her? Their lips were almost touching, now, the two of them leaning across the table. 

“Ahem.”

They sprang apart, Brienne almost falling onto Jaime.

“Trystane,” Cersei said, sounding a little breathy. “What - what are you doing here?”

He raised his eyebrows. “Attending the Small Council meeting? As a member of the Small Council?”

Cersei blinked. “Ah.”

“You do remember-”

“Yes, yes, of course.” She shuffled her chair away from Brienne’s. “The agreement had just...slipped my mind, is all.”

He glanced between the three of them, a puzzled expression on his face. 

“So we should-”

“Yes. Um. We should.”

“Right, then. The meeting.”

“...The meeting.”

-

That evening, Brienne found herself doing the last thing she’d expected that night: sitting at Cersei’s writing desk, quill in her hand, penning a letter to Margaery Tyrell. 

She’d tried to dismiss the worries, knowing that she and Sansa were hundreds of miles away in the frozen north, and if anything had gone wrong she wouldn’t be able to do anything, but she still found her thoughts drifting back to them every now and again, hoping they were alright, occasionally visualising the absolute worst-case-scenario things that might have happened to them. Suggesting they go to Castle Black had come to her mind unbidden, a last-ditch attempt to keep her oath to Lady Catelyn and to honour her memory, and while she wouldn’t have changed what she’d said to them if she could, she constantly found herself praying for their safety. 

_ Lady Margaery,  _

_ I sincerely hope that you, Sansa, and Loras are well, and that you have made it safely to Castle Black. I am sorry that we had to part on such hasty terms, but I hope that you will be happy to hear that the Faith and the High Sparrows are no longer a threat in King’s Landing. We have successfully taken care of them and the city enjoys a newfound freedom.  _

_ I wish I could do more to protect you and Lady Sansa. I know you are aware of my connection to the Lannisters, but know that that does not change my concern for you, or how much I value our friendship. Please write back to me when you receive this letter, so I know that - _

“Brienne?”

She jolted upright, and quickly folded the parchment and shoved it in her pocket.

“Cersei,” she said, turning to look at her as she walked into the room. “Are you alright?”

“Ugh.” Cersei flopped down on their bed, the motion not very dignified and certainly not queenly. “The Iron Bank is threatening to send an embassy.”

“Ooh.” Brienne made a face. “I take it we never quite got around to paying those debts?”

Cersei shrugged. “Who knows what those fuckers want? They’ve always been more cryptic than I’ve had time for, and just as demanding. Myrcella said yes, though, in case you were wondering, which was the only bearable conversation I’ve had this afternoon.” 

“You’re not too tired, are you?”

“Not so much tired as frustrated. Why?” She narrowed her eyes as she looked up at Brienne. “I seem to remember you having a surprise in store for me. What was that all about, anyway?”

“For both of you. But not at once - not this time, anyway, and especially since it doesn’t look like Jaime will relieve himself of his duties for a while…”

“What are you talking about?” There was genuine confusion in Cersei’s eyes, and Brienne could tell she was running through her words in her mind, trying to work out what was going on. 

Brienne hauled herself down to the floor carefully, and ducked underneath the bedframe. 

“You’ve hidden it under the bed?” Cersei’s voice was muffled above her. “How inventive.”

“You didn’t find it!” she objected playfully. 

“...Fair enough.”

“I hope you actually like this.” Her hands clasped around the cold, slightly dusty wood of the box, and she came up for air. “Otherwise, this is going to be a very awkward evening.”

“I’m not sure what you could do to make anything awkward between us,” Cersei said. “Especially considering neither of us expected a nameday gift in the first place.”

Brienne wasn’t so sure, but she’d dragged out the suspense long enough, and she lifted the lid off the box. She cringed as she handed it to Cersei, feeling her cheeks heat up so much she must have been glowing bright scarlet. Had this been a bad idea? Had she gone too far? 

“What-” Cersei took the box from her hand, and Brienne squeezed her eyes shut. She didn’t want to see the expression on her face when she realised what it was. 

So all she saw was the blackness behind her eyelids as she heard Cersei breathe out an exuberant, “Oh,” and then “Seven  _ hells,  _ Brienne.”

She blinked her eyes open to see a look of abject astonishment on Cersei’s face. 

“Please tell me this hasn’t been a mistake,” she said. 

“Where did you even get this?” Cersei marvelled. 

“You’d be surprised what people are willing to do for the Hand of the Queen.” That wasn’t exactly true, but she couldn’t be doing with the whole explanation. It had been a painstaking ordeal of contacting blacksmiths, leatherworkers and the occasional whore to find a way to get it done properly, and there had been a few botched attempts before she’d gotten her hands on the final product. 

But for the simmering lust she could see growing in Cersei’s eyes, it was all worth it. 

She lifted the fake cock out of the box, clearly trying to contain a massive grin. It was coated in leather, and it shined menacingly in the low candlelight. There were straps attached to it, which Cersei fiddled with, clearly putting the pieces together. 

“What are you thinking?” Brienne asked. 

“I’m thinking,” Cersei said, her voice low and heavy, “that I hardly even know what to think. This is so - I never would have expected this. But I don’t see how this is for both Jaime and I-” Realisation washed over her face, and she smirked. “Oh,  _ Brienne."  _

“You definitely think - I mean, he’s implied before, but he’s never explicitly said-”

“I don’t know what I can say without giving you far too much information about our previous...entanglement.”

Brienne gasped. “You-”

“Not properly. Never like this. But let’s just say I’m sure he’ll appreciate it just as much as I do.”

“So, do you want to-”

“Oh, gods, yes.” She began to take her dress off, clearly in a hurry. “I think this might be the best nameday gift I’ve ever received.”

“I’ll just have to outdo myself next year.” 

Cersei scoffed as she began to strip off her dress. “Those meetings would have been a lot more bearable if I’d known this is what I was coming upstairs to.”

“Well, if you’re stressed, you can always, you know.” She gestured at her own body. “Take it out on me now, if you’d like.” 

Cersei paused a little in her removal of her smallclothes, the red gown pooling at the foot of the bed like an inferno. She looked up at Brienne, her eyes alight. 

“I love you so much. You know that, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Brienne said. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“I don’t know. We’ve been so busy recently, it feels like I haven’t let you know.”

“You don’t have to remind me.” Brienne began to take off her tunic, unhooking it slowly in what she hoped was a tantalising manner. “I know. And I love you too.”

Cersei nodded decisively, and pushed the rest of her smallclothes off. No matter how many times Brienne saw her naked in the low candlelight, the sight of her always astounded her. Her eyes ran along every curve of Cersei’s body, the lightning-bolt marks on her stomach from her pregnancies, the dip of her collarbone, all of it. She still wondered, sometimes, how a woman like that could love a woman like her - and indeed the same with Jaime, how a man who looked half a god could find her attractive in the slightest. 

But as she took her own smallclothes off and Cersei’s hungry green eyes latched onto her, she knew that Cersei saw exactly the same in her. 

“Forgive me if I can’t quite get this on,” Cersei said, beginning to wrap the leather straps around her thighs. “It’s-”

She buckled one side successfully, then after a bit of strained pulling and adjustment, it was on. 

Cersei looked at the meeting of her own thighs with awe. Brienne wished she knew what was going on inside her mind. 

“Is it comfortable?” she asked. 

“Yes,” Cersei breathed. “I know I said this already, but you have really outdone yourself.”

Anticipation pooled deep within her veins, the realisation that this was actually about to happen. She felt her cunt grow wet with arousal at the thought, and if she hadn’t been stark naked she would have squirmed against the seam of her breeches. 

“Get over here,” Cersei said, and she pulled Brienne over to her and engulfed her in a kiss. Brienne felt her hands in her hair, tugging at the wavy blonde mass, dragging her deeper and deeper into Cersei’s touch. 

“Cersei,” she breathed, as she allowed her own hands to wrap around Cersei’s back. 

“That’s  _ Your Grace  _ to you,” she all but purred. “Have a little respect for your Queen.”

That hit Brienne out of nowhere, and a fresh wave of arousal knocked the air out of her lungs. 

Cersei pulled away. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, doubt pooling into her eyes suddenly. “That was - was that too much, I-”

“Oh, gods, no,” Brienne said. “I like it.”

Cersei still looked unconvinced. “Try saying it?”

She took a deep breath. She could feel her heart drumming against her ribcage. “Please,  _ Your Grace.  _ Fuck me.” 

Then, before she knew what was happening, Cersei somehow managed to roll her onto her side from beneath her, so that she was on top of her. 

“How in all seven hells did you manage that?” she laughed, still trying to retrieve her breath. 

“I have no idea.” Cersei grinned. “But you have no idea how long I’ve been waiting to do that.”

Brienne chuckled. She was so glad there was still a light-heartedness to their encounter, that they were able to enjoy each other’s company still as well as their bodies. “Gods, I hope I haven’t enabled you to go on some ridiculous power trip now. At least not outside our bedroom, anyway. That would be quite disastrous for anyone involved.”

Cersei almost  _ purred  _ then, a low noise emitting from her throat. “You’ll just have to make sure I get it all out of my system now, then. Otherwise, I’ll be an absolute liability.”

She gasped. “That sounds perfect.”

“That sounds perfect,  _ who _ ?”

“That sounds perfect, Your Grace.”

Cersei chuckled right into Brienne’s ear. “Good.”

Her grin quickly faded into a lascivious smirk. She was still on top of her, and there was a hunger in her eyes as she looked down upon Brienne, like a cat about to pounce.  _ Or a lion.  _

“So, Brienne, how do you want your queen to take you? Like this, on your back? On your hands and knees?” She ran her eyes over her. “I’d offer for you to ride me, but as much as I’d like that I don’t think either of us would be able to walk afterwards, and someone has to run the seven kingdoms tomorrow morning.”

“Like this,” she said decisively. “I want to see you. And I want you to see me.”

“Good.” Cersei kissed her once more, tugging at her lower lip a little, which sent another shock through Brienne’s body. 

She felt Cersei’s hips lift up from above her. It occurred to her that the cock had sort of been pressing into her stomach, and there was a mark where it had sat. 

“I’m going to do this slowly,” Cersei said. “Tell me if it’s too much.” 

“I won’t break,” Brienne scoffed. “You can do it as quickly as you like.”

“Oh,” Cersei said, and, gods, her low voice  _ did things  _ to Brienne. “You don’t want me to be gentle, do you? Do you want me to fuck you fast and rough, defile you like a maiden? Would you like that?” 

“Yes, Your Grace.”

Cersei lined the instrument up with Brienne’s entrance, and Brienne felt herself clench around nothing, bucking her hips up as much as she could. 

She looked into Brienne’s eyes, her own wide, silently asking for permission, and Brienne nodded. 

She slipped inside Brienne, and they both let out a shudder. 

“How is it?” Cersei asked. 

“Good,” Brienne said. Words were becoming difficult to form, she was so desperate. “You?”

Cersei smiled lazily. “It feels good. There’s a sort of...friction to it.”

Cersei thrusted inside her, and she immediately let out a cry. She’d known it was going to feel good, had expected that, but she hadn’t prepared herself for the sensation inside her combined with the sheer thrill of Cersei on top of her, fucking her, regarding her hungrily. 

She kept fucking her, starting off slowly and a little clumsily as she got used to the thrusting motion, but after a while she eventually did it just as she’d promised: hard and fast, to the point hat Brienne had to grip the bedsheets beneath her as her pleasure began to build and build. 

A while ago, she might have muffled her moans, gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut to keep herself quiet. But she had no inclination to keep quiet anymore, and allowed her uncontrollable cries of pleasure to escape her. 

“That’s it,” Cersei said, a gentle poison in her voice. “You’re taking my cock so well, Brienne, you’re so good for me.” She cried out a little herself: it seemed that the cock was rubbing against her clit, building her own pleasure. “I almost wish it was real, wish I could really feel myself inside you.”

Brienne gasped at that, at Cersei’s strange erotic imagination. She tried to say something in response, but the words escaped her. 

“You’re close,” Cersei said. She sounded as if she was close herself, her voice breathy and shallow. 

“Don’t come yet,” she whispered. “Beg.”

_ Shit.  _ She used every inch of her willpower to stop herself reaching her climax, to somehow hold it off. 

“Please.” 

“What’s that?” 

“Please, Your Grace.” She wasn’t even sure if she was speaking the words correctly, or if they were coming out jumbled. “Please let me come. Please.”

Cersei looked down at her for a second, and then nodded, which was just as well, because Brienne didn’t think she could last a second longer. 

She let her pleasure overtake her, allowing herself to relax into it. A cry tore out of her throat, not even feeling like it came from her, disconnected from her body.

She’d heard bawdy jokes about  _ seeing stars  _ before, but she’d never realised how literal it could be. 

As she regained some blurry semblance of her vision, she saw Cersei looking down upon her, red-faced and sweaty, like she’d just come herself. She might have - an assassin could have broken into their room in the past thirty seconds or so and Brienne wouldn’t have noticed. 

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

“Am I alright?” Brienne scoffed. “I’m a lot of things right now, but alright...might not be one of them.”

“I don’t know, you just…” Cersei gestured at her. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“You’re welcome.”

She laughed, a wide, toothy grin accompanying the sound. “Thank you.”

She leaned down to kiss her, all sweat and sex and tired laughter. 

There was a noise at the door, and Brienne hardly had the time to think  _ oh, shit, we left the door unlocked,  _ before Jaime’s voice broke through. 

“Are you alright in there?”

“Never been better,” Brienne said as Cersei rolled off her. “Come on in.”

Maybe she should have asked him to wait a moment, but she had just remembered that there was a second part to this evening, and that made her more than a little reckless. 

Jaime walked in and immediately did a double take. 

“What took you so long?” Cersei said, as if they were just having a casual conversation, and she wasn’t lying on their bed naked with a fake cock strapped to her. 

Jaime squinted at her. “Is that what I think it is?”

Cersei flung her arms out. “Happy fucking nameday to me.”

“To  _ both of you,”  _ Brienne cautioned. “I’d think the two of you had learned to share by now, all things considered.”

Cersei chuckled, and got up. “I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ve got some things I need to look over now, anyway.”

She unbuckled the straps on the cock and set it down on the bed, put her robe on, and went to sit down at her desk. 

Brienne laughed. “Aren’t you too tired?”

Cersei poured herself a glass of wine. “Definitely. But queens don’t have working hours, you know. It’s a full-time job.”

She pulled a stack of paper towards her. 

Jaime was still looking at Brienne in disbelief. “What do you mean, to both of you?”

“Ah.” She sat up. “Forgive me if I misjudged you, Jaime. I thought...you’d mentioned a few times, while we were…”

“Oh.” He looked at the offending item on the bed. “And you intend to...to me…”

“Do you want me to?”  _ Please say yes.  _ “You look confused.”

“I am,” Jaime said. “I’m trying to figure out what I could have possibly done to deserve a woman like you.”

He walked over to their bed as Brienne let out a sigh of relief. “Please tell me you can’t actually read my mind.”

“Thankfully not,” Brienne said. “But you’d like to-”

“Yes, yes, yes.” His eyes were wide now, pleading almost. “I’ll-”

He did his best to shrug off his armour. 

“If I’d known this was what I would be coming back to,” he said, “I would have worn far fewer layers.”

“What’s a nice way to say ‘if you don’t open the supply chain to the Crownlands I will be inclined to burn your pitiful little city to the ground?’” Cersei asked. Brienne couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. 

“Um,” she said, “if you supply us with food we will be indebted to you?”

“That makes sense.”

“Please don’t burn any cities to the ground.”

“I’ll do my best,” she said, and went back to her scrawling.

Jaime was just pulling off his shirt, scrambling with the lacings. 

“Here, let me.” Brienne shuffled along the bed, and took them in her hands. She pulled his shirt over his head, and set it tenderly down beside him. The feeling of his skin against her fingertips lingered, and she pressed her hand back to his chest, craving his touch again. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he said. 

“Calm down,” she joked. “I haven’t even got it on yet.”

“Right,” he said breathlessly. “You do that.”

She turned around, still slightly in disbelief, and did her best to get it on. There were more buckles than she had expected, and her thighs were much wider than Cersei’s, so she had to adjust it quite a bit. 

She gasped the second she felt it secure. 

It should have felt wrong, really. For so many years, people had made jokes that she must have been a little bit of a man, had the cock to go with the sword, said crude things about her body and her face when they knew she was listening but they could pretend that they had no idea. 

And it didn’t quite feel natural, or powerful, or any of the things she had imagined, but the more she looked at it, the more a lazy smirk crept up on her face. She  _ liked  _ it, liked the way it sent a strange erotic thrill through her veins and and to the pit of her stomach. It was still wet, glistening with her own arousal, and she went to wipe it off, and as she did so she ran her hand up the length of it slowly. 

_ Seven hells.  _

“I’ll get the oil,” was all she said out loud. 

She walked over to the cabinet by the side of the bed and pulled out the bottle she had stashed away. Her movements were slow and dreamlike, still a little hazy from Cersei fucking her, and still slightly in disbelief. 

“Are you alright, Brienne?” Jaime asked. 

“Yes.” The word broke her out of her trance, and she turned around. “I’m just-”

Jaime’s jaw fell open at the sight of her. “Gods.”

He was reclining on the bed casually, wearing nothing but a look of pure shock. He could have been right out of a painting, looking like that. 

So, it would seem, did she. 

“If I am dreaming right now,” he said, “I implore you to never wake me up.”

“I promise you,” she said, slinking down onto the bed, “this is as real as it gets.”

“Thank the gods,” he said, and he leaned up to kiss her. She allowed herself to get lost in him for a moment, but her hand was still clutching the bottle. 

“Have you ever done this before?” she said, her voice little more than a whisper, a breath away from his own mouth. 

His eyes flickered over to Cersei, who was still scrawling away. “Not all the way. Not with...attachments.”

She pulled away from him, desperately wanting to get lost in the moment, but still a little preoccupied with the technicalities of the ordeal. “I’ll start slowly. I don’t want to hurt you. If you want to stop, please tell me.”

He nodded. “You too.”

She uncorked the bottle, and poured a little oil onto her index finger, not wanting to waste a drop. 

“I’m going to…” She shuffled back, until she was kneeling in between his legs and he was looking up at her, eyes wide and pupils almost eclipsing the green of his eyes. “Slowly.”

“Okay.”

She pressed her finger to his opening, and pushed. 

It slipped in easier than she thought it would, but it still took quite a bit of wriggling.  _ I’ve got to get the whole cock in there. This is never going to work.  _

“Maybe put a bit more oil on the second one,” Jaime said. “It’ll fit, it just-”

He gasped and threw his head back as she pushed her finger a little deeper.  _ Oh.  _

She slipped it halfway out and back in again, and he repeated the motion. 

“Does it feel good?” she asked. A stupid question, really. 

“Yes,” he breathed. His cock was completely hard now, which was reassuring in a strange way. He really did want this: she’d known that already, but he wasn’t just following along with some absurd plan of hers, doing this to make her happy. They wanted it in equal measures, were both anxious and yet almost dying of anticipation. 

She nodded, and poured a little more oil on her hand. He must have been right - after more lubrication, the second one went in more easily. 

He was tight around her, hot velvet choking her fingers. 

She curled the tips of them a little, and he squirmed into her hand. The motion made  _ her  _ gasp a little, too: seeing him like that was intoxicating. 

A little more oil, a third finger, another breath escaping from Jaime’s lungs so sharply that he jolted and the bedframe creaked. 

“I think I’m ready,” he said, his voice thick and heavy with desperation. 

“Oh, gods, me too.” 

“Would it be easier if I...I mean, how do you want to…”

She blinked for a moment, considering her options. 

Then, something Cersei had said earlier came floating back to her. 

“You could get on top of me. Ride me, I mean.” 

The second the words escaped her mouth, Jaime’s eyes lit up, and he nodded. For the second time that night, she was rolled onto her back, and a Lannister climbed on top of her. 

He sat astride her thighs, his cock resting next to hers, looking down at her expectantly. _I'm ready,_ he seemed to say. 

She picked up the bottle once more, and lathered the instrument in oil. She didn’t want to take any chances, didn’t want to hurt him. 

He gave a little nod, and moved himself upwards. Eyes wide and breath held, he lowered himself down, slowly. 

She reached out for his hand instinctively, and he took it, squeezing tight.

He let out a pleasured cry as the full length of it sank inside him.  _ I am inside him,  _ she thought incredulously, and she squirmed against the base of the cock, aching for friction against her clit. The motion caused him to gasp as she unintentionally fucked up into him. 

Jaime had always been less vocal. Cersei was always talking, muttering and praising her, but Jaime was more quiet. Their communication was in their eyes, not in their words, and the look in his eyes right now was clear as day.  _ Fuck me.  _

So she did. It took her a moment to get into the motion of it, the thrusting of her hips into him, but once she did,  _ oh,  _ the feeling was unbelievable. 

His good hand was still in hers, and soon their fingernails were digging into the backs of each other’s palms. 

As their motions sped up against each other and he began to pant and moan with every thrust, his cock straining against her, she understood why Cersei so enjoyed wielding power when they had sex. It was intoxicating, watching someone come undone beneath - or on top of - you, completely at your mercy, unravelling because of  _ her.  _ He’d never shied away from the fact that he liked it when she was the one in control, but this was a completely different level, and they were ascending to it together. 

They would have to do this again, of course, and a smirk manifested on Brienne’s face as images flashed before her - her fucking him into the mattress, him sitting astride her lap, her inside him as Cersei made a throne out of her face and she licked her to completion. 

She reached out with her other hand and gently palmed his cock, and he threw his head back in pleasure. He was close, she realised, he wasn’t going to last particularly long. She understood. This new sensation must have been overwhelming for him, and it wasn’t as if she would have displayed as much self-control if Cersei hadn’t implored her to. 

She would not ask the same of him. She didn’t want to make him wait - to wait herself. 

She gripped his cock tighter and stroked it up and down, feeling the wetness already leaking out of the tip. He grinded down onto her own cock, clearly trying to take her even deeper. It must have felt so good for him, being filled as he filled her, taken as he took. 

His cock twitched in her hand. 

“I-” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Do you want me to - if you don’t want me to - on-”

“Come,” she said, the word halfway between suggestion and permission. 

So he did, and the sight of him coming apart like that was exhilarating. Some of his seed spilled onto her stomach and breasts, which she supposed was what he was hesitant about, but something about that thrilled her, too. 

He sat there for a moment, panting, dazed, as if trying to come back down to reality. 

“How was that?”

“Seven hells,” he said. “I think that's the best nameday gift I've ever received.”

“I said the very same thing,” Cersei muttered, and Brienne could practically hear the satisfied smirk in her voice, even though she didn’t look up. 

“And it may as well have been my nameday, too,” Brienne said. She reached for the cloth on their bedside table and began wiping herself down with it.

“You didn’t come,” he said, pulling away quickly as he realised that. 

“That’s fine,” she said. “I already came...harder than I’ve ever come before, I think, earlier. You two have completely exhausted me.” 

“You’re welcome,” Cersei and Jaime said in unison, and all three of them laughed, Cersei finally looking up from her work. 

“You might want to clean that,” Cersei said, “unless you want a very unpleasant experience the next time I fuck you with it.”

“So we’re definitely using it again?” she asked. Jaime was nestled into her chest now, and she gently began to stroke his head.

“Of course we are,” Cersei said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world, which, honestly, it was. Cersei and Jaime had given her all kinds of unforgettable experiences in their time together, completely subverting her expectations of what sex was supposed to be, either something she would never obtain, or a chore and an obligation, to lie there and take it as some lord rutted into her. They had proved those notions wrong a thousand times over, and it would seem that she had taught them a few things too, about love and affection, about how a relationship was supposed to build you up, not break you down. 

But tonight was different. Tonight had been on her own terms, even though it was  _ for  _ the Lannisters, she had taken a risk by herself, and it had worked. 

“Come here,” Brienne said, shuffling over and patting the empty space on the bed next to her. “You’ve worked enough.”

Cersei’s eyes lit up mischeviously. “Come here, who?”

Brienne rolled her eyes playfully. “Come here,  _ Your Grace.” _

Cersei obliged, and in a matter of seconds she was nestled into Brienne’s side. 

“Do I want to know?” Jaime asked, eyebrows raised at Brienne’s comment. 

“Maybe not,” Brienne said, at the same time as Cersei said, “ _ Absolutely  _ not.”

“Fair enough,” Jaime said, and he nuzzled his head into Brienne’s shoulder. 

“Happy nameday,” she said, after a few moments of silence. 

But both Jaime and Cersei were, seemingly, already asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! This, uh, got away from me a little bit.


	27. No Cause For Shame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei receives a threat from an old adversary, and realises that her position as queen is far more fragile than she thought.

**Cersei**

“Your Grace?”

Cersei groggily opened her eyes, struggling to decipher whether that pounding noise was coming from the door or her own head. 

“Your Grace!”

No. It was definitely coming from the door. 

It was almost dark outside, she realised, the sky that pallid, sickly shade of blue indicating the sun was just about to rise. What in the seven hells could be so important that they had to wake her at this hour?

_ Something very important,  _ she realised with a sinking feeling.  _ Something worth waking the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms up for.  _

Brienne sleepily opened an eye. “Whatsgoingon?”

“Nothing,” Cersei whispered, patting her head lightly. “Go back to sleep, darling.”

Brienne sighed and shut her eyes again, presumably still half-asleep. 

_ The Red Keep could be under attack,  _ Cersei thought as she paced towards the door.  _ War could have been declared on us. My children could have been murdered in their sleep.  _

She placed a hand on the wall, trying to steady her barely-awake self.

“Your Grace?”

She unbolted the door, and flung it open so hard it hit the wall behind her with a thud. 

_ Shit. That better not have woken up Brienne and Jaime.  _

Her priorities might have been slightly skewed there. 

“What do you want?” she hissed. 

The messenger froze to the spot, his eyes wide with fear. Cersei only hoped hers didn’t look the same. 

“There’s a - a letter, Your Grace.”

“A letter?” She could hardly refrain from snapping. “It isn’t even sunrise yet, and you feel the need to rouse me because of a-”

“From Dorne, Your Grace.”

_ Oh.  _

She bit the inside of her cheek. “And where is this letter?”

He didn’t respond. The messenger’s eyes were still wide, but they weren’t looking at her: he was staring behind her, a look of abject confusion on his face. 

“What are you-”

She whipped her head around. The only thing of any interest behind her were Jaime and Brienne’s still-sleeping forms, neither of them particularly clothed. 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” she muttered to herself.

The messenger’s head was dipped in shame, his eyes glued to the floor. 

“I didn’t see anything,” he said. 

_ You didn’t,  _ she thought.  _ I mean, really, you didn’t see anything important.  _

“Please don’t have me killed,” he whimpered. 

She frowned. “Why would I have you killed?”

He opened his mouth, ready to croak out a response, but she shook her head. 

“Stop wasting my time. The  _ letter?” _

He handed a slip of paper to her wordlessly. 

She struggled momentarily to unseal the wax, her hands still shaking. It was a Dornish seal - the messenger wasn’t lying. 

The second she ripped it open, her eyes instinctively flitted to the bottom of the page.  _ Ellaria Sand. _

_ Shit.  _ She quickly looked back at the top, trying to absorb the words on the page as quickly as possible, trying to discern what Ellaria might possibly have wanted from her. 

_ Cersei Lannister.  _

_ Doran Martell, the foolish Prince of our kingdom, has sworn fealty to you. He is a fool and a traitor.  _

_ I have not forgotten what your father did to Oberyn Martell, nor his sister Elia. I will not forget it in favour of diplomacy and cowardice. We also remember that Trystane was sent to King’s Landing under the pretence of being married to Myrcella Baratheon. This has not happened, to my understanding.  _

_ While you, your brother, and your guard were staying in Dorne, I recall hearing the three of you caught in a rather compromising position. Everyone knows the truth about you and Jaime. Everyone knows that your children are bastards. But what they might not know, Cersei, is the truth about your relationship with that guard of yours, Brienne. And I know the truth about you, too. I remember the fear in your eyes when I told you I knew.  _

_ Myrcella was meant to be queen after her brother. Do not think we accept that she handed her crown over to you without your manipulation. You are very clever, Cersei, but you do not fool me. I know this is your way of keeping Dornish power off the throne. Your family has always been greedy, but you might just be the worst.  _

_ This is a threat, not a warning. I do not support your claim to the throne as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And I will not comply with your rule as long as you live.  _

_ Ellaria Sand.  _

The edges of her vision blurred, her mind beginning to spin. She should have expected something like this eventually, but -

“Your Grace, if I might implore you-”

“You might not,” she snapped, barely listening to him. “What are you still doing here, anyway? What could you  _ possibly-” _

“Cersei?”

Her anger dulled, falling off her tongue as her words died. 

“Brienne?” She was standing a few feet from the door, nightgown pulled on haphazardly and a flickering candle in her hand. “I didn’t mean to wake you-”

“What happened?” Her blue eyes were wide, murky with concern in the translucent dark. 

Cersei sucked in a breath. “Leave us,” she said to the messenger, and he scurried, rat-like down the hallway. 

She looked down at the letter in her hand, the edges crumpled from her grip. “We might have to call an emergency meeting of the Small Council.”

“It’s the middle of the night,” Brienne said, not a complaint but a concerned observation. 

“Like I said. An emergency.”

“Can I ask what this emergency is?” 

She extended the letter to Brienne. “See for yourself.”

“...And I will not comply with your rule as long as you live.” Cersei set the letter down on the Small Council table with a thud. “From one Ellaria Sand.”

Everyone at the table was silent for a few moments. The sunlight was streaming in through the window now, cutting through the sky and bleeding it dry, red streaks forming on the horizon. 

She had opted to omit the line about their children being bastards, and seeing the terrified look on Myrcella’s face, it had been a worthwhile omission. She might have known the truth, but Cersei knew how much it hurt to hear it from another. 

“...I would like to make myself clear,” Trystane said, shattering the silence. “I do not agree with Ellaria in this matter. Nor, it would seem, does my father. I thought Dorne would support you, after everything we agreed upon.”

“I thought so too,” Cersei said. “But I should have known better than to trust Ellaria.”

“She was always kind to me,” Trystane said. “But it would seem there are many things I did not know about her. I am sorry that she has betrayed you - betrayed us - in this way.” He glanced anxiously at Myrcella from across the table. 

“I think it would be best if none of us repeat the contents of this letter outside this room,” Brienne interjected, and Cersei nodded agreeably. “The last thing we need is for anyone to feel like we’re under threat unless we actually are.”

“Do you think we are?” Jaime asked her. 

“She said it was a threat,” Brienne said. “But perhaps that’s what she wants. She wants us to feel scared, but for all we know she’s bluffing. Not that I think it would be wise to assume that, but…” She looked up at Cersei. “I don’t know. It feels like we’re giving her exactly what she wants if we stir up fear.”

Ordinarily she would have felt a flicker of pride for Brienne, but it was buried deep, thousands of leagues under her own concern and anguish. 

“If I might ask,” Mace said, “is it true?”

Cersei glared at him. “Is what true?”

The lines on his face deepened further. “That Ellaria knows...the truth.”

“Ellaria did not  _ see  _ anything herself,” Cersei said, thinking out loud more than she was answering his question. “And as you and my uncle were so keen to remind me, it’s nothing the rest of the court doesn’t know already, apparently.”

“It would seem that Ellaria has misinterpreted the situation,” Jaime said pensively. “I don’t think she realises that it’s sort of...common knowledge, at this point? But the point still stands that she could attempt...something. It doesn’t matter what information she has on us - on you - in that respect.”

“Maybe not,” Cersei said. “But she’s made it clear that she’s willing to do  _ something  _ against us.”

“She seems to think this information is...leverage against you, shall we say?” Qyburn piped up. “That if she releases it to anyone important, it’ll bring you down somehow. Maybe she thinks she has more of an advantage than she actually does.”

“I wouldn’t say we have that much of an advantage either,” Cersei said. “We’ve sent letters to the other great houses, but not all of them have responded. I don’t know how much support we would have. Tell me, Jaime, if she attacks us, through whatever means she has at her disposal, how would we fare?”

Jaime shrugged. “It’s hard to say. She wouldn’t have the Dornish fleet on her side, and I’d wager that the Lannister army could overpower whatever forces she could muster up. But this doesn’t sound like a declaration of war to me. Like you said, it’s a threat, but a vague one.” He looked up at Cersei, disappointment in his eyes. “I wish I could give you a certain answer, but I can’t.”

Cersei glared at the offending letter, wanting nothing more than to burn it and watch it crumple into ash. Wanting nothing more than to do the exact same thing to Ellaria Sand. 

“Ellaria has known about my...proclivities for a long time,” Cersei said. Brienne’s head perked up: she didn’t know about that, Cersei realised. “In fact, she was one of the first people to confront me about them.”

“Your proclivities?” Mace raised his eyebrows. 

Cersei huffed. “The fact that I enjoy the company of other women,” she said, the words coming out more quickly than she had intended them too. Almost as if she was ashamed. 

But she wasn’t ashamed anymore, was she? Long ago, she had reviled that fact about herself, been thrown into anguish and conflict because of it, but things were different now. She and Brienne had been together for a long time, and they didn’t fear discovery anymore. Right?

“...If she wanted to use that information against me,” she continued, “the time for it to be effective has come and gone. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?” She threw her hands up in frustration, and laughed hollowly. “She cuts my hair off and walks me naked through the streets of my own city? I’m sorry, but it’s a little late for that.”

A silence followed her words, as if no one knew how to respond to that. She dropped her arms abruptly, and straightened out her face, trying to ignore the uncomfortable glances. 

_ I need a drink.  _

_ No. I need to sort this out. I need to fix this mess before it spirals out of control. _

She unclenched her fists, trying to steel herself. 

“Are you alright?” Brienne mouthed at her, just subtle enough that no one else saw. 

Cersei nodded shakily. “Anyway,” she said, turning back to the rest of the table. “I suspect that she’s been sitting on this information for a long time, waiting for the right time to use it. But that time has come and gone, at least for the most part.”

“Can I make a suggestion?” Myrcella asked nervously. 

Cersei’s eyes flitted over to her. “Of course.”

“I think...given some of the content of the letter, some of the things Ellaria said...it would be best for Trystane and I to marry as soon as we can.”

_ Oh.  _ That hadn’t even crossed Cersei’s mind.

“Yes,” she said thoughtfully. “That course of action makes sense. I can only apologise that I haven’t made it a greater priority recently.” 

“I don’t want you to think that I’m being self-serving,” Myrcella said, her eyes tainted with genuine concern. “I mean, especially seeing how this is partly my fault, I-”

“None of this is your fault,” Cersei said, cutting her off. “If that vile woman and her brood of bitches want to paint both you and I as the enemy, so be it.”

Trystane’s eyebrows shot up at that comment, but he didn’t express his offense to her description of Ellaria verbally, so Cersei elected to ignore it. 

“I feel like people are always going to think you used me to become queen,” Myrcella said. “I should have thought my decision through before I made it.”

“Even if that’s true, what’s done is done,” Cersei said. “And the people that matter know that you did what you did of your own volition.”

Her eyes travelled to Mace, whose face was painted with a sceptical expression. She needed to find a replacement for him soon, she decided. Kevan and Pycelle might have been gone now, but she had neither forgotten his judgement nor the vitriol he had spewed about her. 

“Anyway,” she said, unclenching her teeth. “The wedding.”

She looked at Myrcella expectantly, silently imploring her to continue with her point. 

“...The wedding,” Myrcella said. “If we get it out of the way as soon as possible, then Ellaria can’t accuse us of putting it off. Trystane and the Martell’s connection to the crown will be secured, and she will have lost support in that regard. What she said in the letter will be null and void, she won’t be able to use it against us.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaime said. “I know you and Ellaria were close at one point. This must be difficult for you, as well as Trystane.”

Myrcella nodded understandingly. “I thought I knew who she was. I suppose I was wrong.”

Cersei was briefly reminded of their suspicion of Ellaria as they’d left Dorne, the creeping feeling Brienne had that she was going to try something against them, to prevent them from returning to King’s Landing successfully. 

Perhaps this was her having another stab at that. Trying to tear any power the Lannisters had into the ground because of an ancient grudge. 

“What’s the absolute soonest we can hold the wedding?” Trystane asked. An open question, to the whole table. 

“With all the preparation that would be needed, I’d say a week,” Cersei said. “It’ll be rushed, but we do want it done quickly.”

“Guests from Dorne might not be able to arrive in time,” Brienne noted. “It took us maybe six days, and that was with good weather.”

Cersei gritted her teeth. “Do we need guests from Dorne? Is that strictly necessary?”

“If this is to be a diplomatic effort, then absolutely.” Brienne tilted her head to one side, as if sensing Cersei’s aggression and trying to placate it. 

Cersei exhaled slowly. “Twelve days, then. That should give them plenty of time.”

She would be silently praying for a storm, she decided.

“Dealing with the wedding is all well and good,” Jaime said hesitantly, “but I feel like we can’t overlook Ellaria’s threat to reveal the truth about our - your - relationship. I mean…” He sighed. “I know it seemed like it didn’t hold much weight, but the more I think about it, the more I feel we can’t afford to ignore it.”

“And what exactly  _ is _ the nature of this relationship?” Mace asked skeptically. “I’ve never quite been able to figure out the technicalities.”

Everyone at the table turned to look at him. 

“I hardly think that’s any of your business,” Cersei snapped. “You’ve concerned yourself enough with my private matters, and-”

“If I might speak, Your Grace,” Qyburn said. 

“Go on.”

“It would seem that, while I understand where you are coming from, Ellaria Sand herself has made your private matters her business. And if there’s any confusion about what the truth is...I mean, Lord Commander, you yourself said she misinterpreted the situation.” He laughed nervously, which wasn’t usually like him. “I mean, even I don’t completely understand what’s going on. Perhaps some clarity would help to deter her, if she thinks she can expose you.”

Cersei gripped the edge of the table. 

“...He has a point,” Brienne said reluctantly. 

Cersei opened her mouth, trying to find the right place to begin, but the words didn’t come easily. She supposed that it came so naturally to her by now that the idea of explaining it to anyone else had become difficult. Choosing the wrong words could put them in a world of danger and judgement, or so she saw it. 

“Cersei and Jaime were…” Brienne opened her mouth, looking expectantly at Cersei, seeming to pick up on her unsureness. 

Cersei nodded. 

“They were, um...together, for a long time. I know, that’s…”

“Regrettable,” Jaime said. 

“Disgraceful,” Cersei quipped at the same time. 

“Yes. Well. But they both saw that it was...that their relationship was those things. So they decided to discontinue their affair, and not long after Jaime and I...began our own relationship. But Cersei…” Her eyes slid towards Cersei. 

“Fell in love with you?” Cersei supplied. 

“Yes,” Brienne said. “And once we realised that feeling was mutual, that I was attracted to both of them, we worked out an arrangement. That I would be with Jaime and Cersei at the same time, but the two of them wouldn’t be with each other. Like...what was the comparison you made?”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Um…”

“Oh!” Jaime said. “The...you have two hands but I only have one?”

“That was it,” Brienne said.

“I said that?”

“Yes!” 

“That’s a good comparison.”

“Humble as always.”

“What can I say, I-”

“Ahem,” Qyburn politely coughed, tearing the three of them away from each other. It was all too easy, sometimes, to get lost in the easy chemistry with the two people closest to them, and to forget everyone else present, even in such a formal setting as this. 

“Sorry,” Jaime muttered. 

“That all sounds rather complicated,” Mace said. Cersei could still see the judgement behind his eyes, but that wasn’t going to change any time soon.

“Perhaps,” Brienne said. “But I hope the details have provided some clarity.”

“We’ll still need to heighten our defenses. Increase the patrolling of the City Watch, station more guards around the Keep, that sort of thing,” Jaime said assuredly. “We need to protect the city physically as well as politically.”

“And - if I can say - we all need to be on our guard,” Trystane said. “Ellaria is sly, and while she might not attack you outright, she’s...sneaky. Even Myrcella and I need to be on the lookout for anything she could do to undermine us. I have a horrible feeling that this city is about to become a very dangerous place.”

“Well,” Mace said, seemingly more to himself than anyone else, “I can’t say I think I will be in the city much longer.”

“What?” The word came out louder than Cersei had intended. 

“Not because of this situation,” he said. “But I am afraid that there are...other things I must concern myself with.”

“...Other things?” Cersei raised her eyebrows, hoping that the motion made him feel somewhat threatened. “What other-”

There was a sharp knocking at the door, and she whipped her head around. 

“We are in the middle of a meeting,” she said irritably. 

A man poked his head around the door, and she realised with a barely suppressed eye roll that it was the messenger who had plagued her mere hours before. 

“Your Grace,” he said nervously. “I have a - another message for you.”

_ Another one?  _ she thought. 

“If it isn’t an emergency,” she seethed, “I will be-”

“News comes from the Riverlands, my queen. The castle of Riverrun has been taken once again by Tully forces, and the Freys have been driven out.”

The news rolled over Cersei, who was still reeling from the emotional exhaustion of the threat from Ellaria, but when it hit her she did little more than exhale slowly, one hand still tightly wrapped around the edge of the table. 

_ I definitely need a drink now,  _ she thought. 

“Your Grace?”

They were already unstable enough, with a new ruler, shaky support, and the Dornish threat. And now this. 

“Oh, gods,” she heard Jaime say. “Cersei, what do you - Cersei?”

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking away the coloured splotches that pooled at the edges of her vision. 

“I…” Her mind was racing. This was too many things, too early, all at once. The knife edge of her fear ached to be dulled. The walls of the chamber felt a little too tight despite the wide window. 

_ Send the Lannister army to the Twins,  _ she thought.  _ Take back that castle, our castle.  _

But the words weren’t coming easily to her tongue, the thoughts still half-formed and faded, crossing over with the words from Ellaria’s letter. She could feel the letter although her eyes were still shut, feel its presence so close to her hand. 

“Are you…” Brienne’s voice broke a little way through the fog, reminding her of what she’d said earlier, divulging information about their relationship. 

She had no long-term solution for the Ellaria problem, no grand plan to stop her. But she did have one thing. Something that - well, it might not have been a good idea to have done it a long time ago, but something she hadn’t realised she’d needed to do until that shame flooded back to her as she reminded Mace of her proclivities. 

For all her talk about not caring what other people thought of her, of holding her head high and only listening to the opinions of those who mattered, she knew deep down that that was an act. That all those words sunk deep under her skin, confirming to her that everyone was out to get her, watching her and waiting for her to slip up, whispering about her when they thought she couldn’t hear. 

If she had any hope of sending the right message to Ellaria, she needed to confront that. 

“We need to deal with one issue at a time,” Cersei said. “Which is why I need to deal with this one right away.”

She rose from her chair slowly. 

“Arrange a gathering of the court in the throne room as soon as possible,” she said, trying to maintain a calm tone. She glanced to the window, where the bloody sun was just softening into the pinks of morning. “Perhaps not now. But when morning comes, I have an announcement to make.”

“...Where are you going with this?” Brienne asked. 

She took a deep breath. “Ellaria thinks I’m ashamed of myself. I need to show her that I’m not afraid of her. And if she intends to threaten me by telling everyone exactly who I am, then I may as well do it myself.”

She maintained eye contact with Brienne, staring into those intoxicating blue pools, trying to silently plead with her. To ask for permission. 

Brienne nodded silently. 

She couldn’t help but feel as though this whole thing had been a mistake as she stood before the entire court, all their watchful eyes on her as they always were. But she had to hold herself to this. 

Brienne and Jaime were standing just on her left. Her Hand and her Lord Commander, grounding her by her side as they always did.

She took a deep breath as she stared the crowd down, taking in the musty silence. 

“Let me begin by saying that I am not stupid, nor am I ignorant. I hear what you all say about me, and quite frankly it’s nothing new. I know there will always be talk of my...entanglements with my brother, malicious rumours spread about my family and I.”

Her usual authoritative tone fell into her voice, and she clung to it like an anchor. 

“All my life, I have learned to tolerate the things people say about me. But what I cannot tolerate is people thinking that they can take my personal matters and turn them against me, use them as leverage to threaten me now that I am Queen.”

There might be Dornish spies in the crowd, she realised, sympathisers passing her every word back to Ellaria. Her gaze hardened as she looked over them, trying to spot a glimpse of panic or fear in anyone’s eyes. 

“So I would like to make a statement. To make myself clear about my relationships, and to let it be known that I am not ashamed.” She turned to look at Brienne, standing resolute and proud, Hand brooch shining in the sun’s glow. “You all know Brienne of Tarth, my esteemed Hand of the Queen. And I am sure some of you have heard rumours that she and I are...together.”

She turned back to her audience, her hands begging to clasp together and dig into each other’s palms. She held them in place at her sides. 

“These rumours are true. She and I are deeply in love, and have been for a long time. I suppose that makes her my...consort, as well as my Hand.”

She kept her eyes at middle distance, not wanting to see the judgement in the crowd.  _ A lion does not concern herself with the opinion of the sheep.  _

“Brienne also happens to be the lover of the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, Jaime Lannister.”

Would she be going too far by making the “Brienne has two hands” comparison here? Yes, she decided. Her subjects could only be afforded so much amiability from their Queen. 

“This is not an uncommon arrangement to have, for one person to have two lovers. In fact, it is quite common in Dorne.” She allowed venom to creep into her voice on the last word, crushing the single syllable between clenched teeth. 

“I am telling you this now because I would like to make it clear, to you and to all the world, that I do not fear this information being revealed. Let it be spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms, let it be known from the Wall to the Red Waste, I don’t care. Anyone who opposes this will…”

She glanced over at Brienne and Jaime, two sets of blond eyebrows raised at her. The words  _ will be put to death  _ fizzled out on her tongue. 

“Will be treated as anyone else who speaks treasonous words would,” she finished.

She swallowed, and allowed her eyes to flicker down to meet her audience. “And I will not let myself or anyone I love be made to fear their own lives being held against them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I would love to hear your thoughts, feedback, anything really.


	28. Old Habits Die Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Myrcella and Trystane finally get married, in the wake of Ellaria's threats. Cersei's fears, while mostly misplaced, have unintended consequences which leave her, Jaime, and Brienne in an incredibly difficult position.

**Cersei**

Myrcella looked a vision in her wedding dress. 

Cersei couldn’t help but be in awe as she walked her down the centre of the Sept of Baelor, Myrcella clutching her left arm so tight she feared she might pull it off. They’d contemplated having Jaime give her away for a moment, but it had felt a little too personal, and she supposed that as her mother, _and_ the Queen, she had every right to do so instead. 

She wanted to mutter words of encouragement to her as they walked, but far too many eyes were on them, and so she remained silent.

She wished her own wedding day could have been like this. Myrcella looked so happy, all golden sunlight and smiles as they approached the steps. She made eye contact with a few of the people along the way: Dornish guests, ladies of the court, Tommen, Brienne, Jaime, and flashed an excited grin at each of them. 

Myrcella deserved this. Even though the situation was still a little unsure, and the tension in the capital lately had been palpable, she deserved to marry a man she actually loved and live a life she chose. It was more of a privilege than Cersei had ever been afforded at her age. 

They came to a stop at the top of the steps, where Trystane was waiting, beaming at the sight of his bride. 

Cersei beamed at Myrcella, too, as she let go of her arm. 

“Thank you,” her daughter whispered. 

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just squeezed her hand one final time before letting go completely, and walking away to stand between Brienne and Tommen. 

“She looks lovely,” Brienne whispered. 

“She does.” Cersei could hardly contain her pride for her daughter, her happiness. Even though she could easily see four Martells in her line of sight who they’d begrudgingly welcomed hours earlier, which would usually have made her stomach turn, that was completely eclipsed by the sheer contentment tight in her chest. “I’m so proud of her.”

They’d pulled the old High Septon out of the retirement he’d been forced into by the High Sparrow to officiate, which hopefully made him feel like he still had some semblance of power. 

He cleared his throat, and the sound reverberated throughout the Sept. “You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection.”

Trystane, looking for all the world like he was trying to contain tears of joy himself, took the deep red cloak in his hands and wrapped it tenderly around Myrcella’s shoulders.

**  
-**

All things considered, the wedding feast wasn’t too bad. 

There was definitely the stench of tension permeating the air, the sense that this wedding was a necessity rather than the lavish event it should have been, but thankfully that was mostly masked by a sense of relief, forcing everyone’s spirits to lift in some semblance of a happy, amiable event. 

Cersei, Jaime, Brienne and Tommen were all sitting together at the head table, next to the happy couple, overlooking the rest of the guests. Naturally, they all looked incredible: nothing was going to get in the way of that, as far as Cersei was concerned. Brienne looked especially stunning in her new dress, a blue velvet gown she’d had made specially to fit her tall, broad physique, embroidered with silver stars and with a rather low neckline that diverted Cersei’s attention far more than was appropriate for a public setting. 

If she didn’t say so herself, they were beginning to look like quite the royal family. 

She had told herself that she wouldn’t be drinking so heavily tonight, but she had never been very good at keeping promises to herself. Still, she was still much more sober than she had been at other...memorable weddings, and she didn’t feel the desperate need to drown her fears in wine as she had before.

“The Sand Snakes didn’t come, did they?”

Jaime shook his head. “No, Myrcella. We did invite them, but we never got a response.”

Myrcella cast her eyes down, staring sadly into her goblet. “I wish they could have been here. Tyene promised she would come.”

“I know,” Jaime said. “I’m sorry they didn’t show up.”

She smiled sadly, the corners of her mouth barely twitching. “I really thought they were my friends,” she said. “I suppose I should have expected less of them.”

“They _were_ your friends,” Trystane said. “They were mine, too. I still can’t believe they betrayed you and your family like that.” 

“I suppose we’ll have to be more careful who we can trust, now,” Myrcella said. 

Cersei didn’t know what to say to that, so she simply took another sip of her wine. It stung her a little, to hear her daughter talking like that, like _her._ Myrcella shouldn’t have to live like that, filled with paranoia and suspicion at every turn. Cersei still didn’t quite trust Trystane, still felt that burning fear cloud the back of her mind every time she glanced his way. She’d carried that habit with her for forty years now: she wouldn’t see her daughter succumb to the same vice.

Perhaps it was a good thing that they hadn’t shown up in the end. The last thing they needed was some kind of scene - or, Cersei thought with a sinking feeling, some kind of rehash of the Red Wedding. 

The second that thought entered her mind, she latched onto it, and her eyes widened. 

“Don’t worry about it too much,” Jaime said. He was saying it to Myrcella, really, but Cersei tried to take it to heart. “I know this all seems scary, right now, but I promise that I’ll protect you. We’ll all protect you,” he added, gesturing at Brienne and Cersei. “That’s what we’re here for, after all.”

Myrcella nodded uneasily. 

“Father!”

Trystane’s shout dragged Cersei’s focus upwards, where Doran Martell was striding over to their table. 

“Prince Doran,” Cersei said, only slightly clenching her jaw. “How lovely to see you again.” 

“Your Grace,” he said, nodding his head curtly. “Princess Myrcella. Might I just say, you look absolutely astonishing.”

She laughed brightly. “The seamstresses did an excellent job, didn’t they? I wish I could wear this dress every day.”

“I am very lucky,” Doran said. “Not every man can be sure that his son is marrying the loveliest young woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

Myrcella blushed. “I’ve missed you, Your Grace.”

“Dorne is not the same without you, Princess.” Doran’s friendly smile faltered. “Then again, many things in Dorne are not as they were.”

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Brienne said, sounding incredibly reluctant to disrupt the amiable atmosphere, “do you know what Ellaria is doing? I mean-”

“She is no longer residing at the Water Gardens,” Doran said. “I haven’t seen her or her daughters in quite some time. I am sorry that I cannot provide any more clarity onto the situation.”

Cersei looked curiously at Brienne, and her expression was reflected in her lover’s face. _If she isn’t in the Water Gardens - maybe not in Sunspear at all - then where is she?_

“No matter,” Brienne said. “I am simply glad that we can welcome you and your family here today.”

Cersei suppressed an affectionate smile. _She’s so good at all of this. Seven hells, I picked a good Hand._

She must not have been as subtle as she’d thought, because Doran seemed to pick up on it, and smiled knowingly. “I also heard about your...ah…announcement, that you made a few weeks ago.” 

“Ah,” Cersei said, not really knowing how to respond. She detected Jaime and Brienne sharing an uncomfortable look out of the corner of her eye. 

“I am sorry that you feel your relationship may be used against you. People in this part of Westeros can be so judgemental. In Dorne, this sort of arrangement is not uncommon at all.”

“We know,” Jaime said. “In fact, it was your late brother Oberyn that...brought us together in this way, shall we say.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Cersei said. That seemed like eons ago, too. Civilisations could have risen and fell in the time since she and Oberyn had had that conversation on the waterfront. “I suppose we have him to thank for that.”

 _And Ellaria, to some extent,_ she thought bitterly, _but she doesn’t deserve our thanks._

“Well, I hope you are aware that you have Dorne’s full support.” He turned to look at Trystane, and beamed with pride. “Especially now that our houses are joined. I have full confidence that this is the start of a bright and happy future between the Lannisters and the Martells, regardless of what Ellaria would do.” 

Cersei nodded appreciatively. “As do I.”

Was he going to keep talking? He couldn’t possibly have much more to say. 

“Well, then,” Doran said. “It was wonderful to speak to you.” 

“Hmm,” Cersei said. 

He nodded politely, and walked away from them, rejoining the other Dornish guests at their own table. Cersei watched him thoughtfully as he walked away. 

“This is much better than the last wedding,” Jaime quipped, to the rest of the table. 

“Oh, definitely,” Tommen said. “Everyone seems much happier. Especially you, Mother.”

“I am happier,” she said, unconsciously rubbing Brienne’s arm, the soft velvet a comfort under her fingertips. “Especially since Myrcella and Trystane seem like they’re actually going to be happy together.”

“We are,” Trystane said, clutching his new bride’s hand. “I still can’t believe I get to call you my wife.”

Myrcella laughed, a light, twinkling sound. “I can’t believe I get to call _myself_ your wife.” 

Tommen chuckled. “Don’t forget about the rest of us, will you?” 

He said the words jokingly, but there was a genuine concern behind his eyes. 

“I’m still going to be here, Tommen,” Myrcella said, and if they hadn’t been sitting two seats apart Cersei knew she would have playfully nudged her brother. “I’m not going anywhere, don’t worry. I’ll just be...with Trystane, now. I won’t forget about you.”

“Promise?” 

“If I do, you can…” She turned to Trystane, then to the rest of her family. “I don’t know. What can you do?”

“Make you eat nothing but porridge for a month,” Tommen offered, and Myrcella rolled her eyes. “Remember when you-”

“That was nine years ago!” she said indignantly. “Please, don’t embarrass me today.”

“Tommen, you are _definitely_ not one to talk about picky eating,” Cersei said. “I remember when you were six, I tried to feed you beetroot, and you threw it at me.”

“I didn’t do that!”

“Yes, you did!” Jaime interjected. “I remember now. Your mother was furious.”

“It sounds like she got what she deserved,” Myrcella chuckled, and Cersei mock-gasped at that. 

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” she said, and took a sip of her wine. 

“I feel like I hardly know you, Tommen,” Trystane said. “We are to be brothers, now, are we not? I wish I could have spoken to you more before today.” 

The three of them pulled away into their own little conversation, Tommen commenting on another embarrassing anecdote from Myrcella’s childhood, and Cersei turned away from them, leaving them to it. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” she said, “but all things considered, this is going rather well.”

She could feel the cold metal of the knife she’d tucked up her silk sleeve digging into her skin. She tried to nudge it further down, out of sight and mind. It hadn’t been the best idea to bring it there, now that she thought about it. 

Brienne took a delicate bite of her roast swan. “I can’t say I’ve ever seen a highborn woman so happy on her wedding day.”

“True,” Cersei said. “It’s not a luxury we’re often afforded.”

“You were never…” Jaime began, glancing sideways at Myrcella and Trystane. 

“Not properly,” Brienne said. “My father tried to betrothe me to someone, once, but it didn’t end well.” 

“Oh, I remember,” Jaime said. “That was…”

 _Oh._ Cersei remembered the anecdote Brienne was referring to. How those highborn men had feigned interest in her, only to snicker behind their hands when she wasn't looking and further humiliate her. 

“I thought no one would ever want me,” Brienne said. “How wrong I was.” 

Cersei chuckled darkly. “How wrong you were indeed.” 

Brienne’s eyes flickered up to hers, and then over to Jaime’s, a flush on her face that might have been brought on by the wine, or the heat, or something else entirely. 

“Well…” Brienne said, “All things considered, Tommen’s wedding didn’t end too badly. If you understand what I’m getting at.”

Cersei smirked. “Maybe not. Although I do seem to remember a rather significant amount of panic the following morning.” 

Jaime laughed heartily. “Gods, that seems like such a long time ago now.”

“It was, I suppose. A lot has changed since then.” She glanced over at Cersei, an expression halfway between a smirk and a smile plastered over her mouth. “Although, now that I think about it, perhaps not _that_ much.”

“What are you talking about?”

She raised her eyebrows, and innocuously lifted another forkful of food to her mouth. 

“Brienne,” Cersei said, dropping her voice into a purr. “We are in public.”

“I’m not doing anything,” she said playfully. “If you’re otherwise preoccupied, that’s your fault.” 

“My fault?” Her eyes flickered down to Brienne’s chest. There wasn’t even that much cleavage on display, owing to Brienne’s rather small breasts, but that was neither here nor there: every inch of soft, freckled skin revealed by the low-cut dress was tantalising, especially in her somewhat intoxicated state. 

She leaned in closer, to whisper delicately in her ear. “It’s not my fault you’re irresistible.” 

“Well, it is sort of your fault,” Jaime said. “And I heard that, by the way.”

“Well, Jaime, are _you_ distracted?”

He scoffed. “That’s neither here nor there.”

“I rather think it _is_.”

“Oh, for the gods’ sake. You two can be such _siblings_ sometimes. You’re squabbling like a pair of children.” 

Cersei met Jaime’s gaze over Brienne’s shoulder. “I suppose we never really got the chance to be proper siblings,” she said thoughtfully. 

“And this is your attempt at making up for it?” 

“Maybe!”

“Oh, for the love of the seven-” Brienne began, but she was cut off by the legs of Trystane’s chair screeching jarringly against the stone floor as he stood up. 

“If I can have your attention, please, everyone.” He smiled warmly to the crowd. “It has been a wonderful evening, and I couldn’t be more grateful to celebrate the union of our two great houses with you all tonight. But, it is getting late, and-”

“The bedding!” someone in the crowd shouted, and a few raucous cheers went up. 

Trystane tried to open his mouth, but just chuckled awkwardly as the noise drowned out any words he might have said. 

“Well…” He clicked his tongue. They’d decided to do away with the traditional bedding ceremony in this instance: Myrcella had expressed her discomfort for the practice, and anyone who insisted on tradition wasn’t quite bold enough to contradict the princess or the queen. 

Eventually, the cheers died down, and he opened his mouth again. “My new bride and I would like to retire to our chambers, now.”

He reached for her hand, and she took it, getting up beside him. 

“Thank you all for being here with us today, and supporting this union,” Myrcella said. “It has been an honour.” 

They left the table, and began to walk towards the double doors at the end of the hall, hands clasped tightly. 

Cersei dug her nails into her palm as cold, protective panic began to flare up.

“Oh, seven hells,” she breathed, the words escaping her involuntarily, and Brienne immediately reached out to clench her hand. She kneaded her knuckles, trying to work some of the tension away. 

“Are you alright?” Brienne said. 

Cersei nodded shakily. “I suppose I should be used to this by now. I know I’m not giving her up or anything ridiculous like that, I just-”

“I understand,” Brienne said. “But Myrcella is happy, Cersei. If you can relieve yourself of worrying about anything, let it be this.” 

The couple gave one last smile and wave to the rest of the room, before slipping out of the door. 

The guests erupted in a cheer the second they left. Cersei tried to join in, clapping merrily along with the rest of them. 

Jaime leaned across the table. “I know what you’re thinking,” he said. “But this isn’t going to be like that. Myrcella won’t go through what you did.”

She glanced towards him uneasily. “Sometimes I worry that you _can_ read my mind.”

“I can’t. And I am forever grateful for that, but that’s beside the point. Trystane is not Robert.”

Brienne’s mouth opened in understanding. “Oh.”

“I know _that,”_ Cersei said. 

Brienne gave her hand another little squeeze, and Cersei clenched it back. 

“I shouldn’t be worrying,” she said. 

“Maybe not,” Brienne replied. “But if you were to...I don’t know, need someone to help you take your mind off it…”

She slowly unclasped her hand, and placed it delicately on Cersei’s thigh. 

_“Brienne,”_ she said. 

“Your Grace.”

 _Oh, gods._ Brienne’s low voice sent a desperation through her veins, and she took another swig of wine, deliberately burying her face in the goblet to hide how flustered she’d quickly become. 

“I don’t know about you,” Brienne said, placing her other hand on Jaime’s shoulder and turning momentarily towards him, “but it’s getting awfully late. I might retire to bed soon.” She glanced between the two of them, innocent as anything. “Would you two care to join me?” 

“You’re right,” Jaime said. “It’s been a very tiring day. I could use some rest.”

“Me too,” Cersei said. “You are _incorrigible.”_

She said the words teasingly, but her eyes were filled with gratitude. She knew that, for Brienne, this wasn’t just an offer of sex, but for comfort, and emotional intimacy at this difficult, confusing time for both of them. Jaime was watching his only daughter get married, too, and he shared some of Cersei’s concerns: she could see it in his eyes, even if he wasn’t expressing them so outwardly. 

The band had struck back up again, and the guests were all dancing and laughing again now. Thankfully, the wedding band had since realised that _The Rains of Castamere_ was, all things considered, a rather inappropriate wedding song, especially with the guests from Dorne present, and no one had been forced to listen to it again tonight. 

“Shall we?” Brienne went to stand up. 

Cersei couldn’t help but laugh, making a show of taking her hand. 

“Mother?” Tommen turned towards Cersei, and she froze. “Where are you going?” 

He raised his eyebrows, and lowered his voice conspicuously. “Are you alright?”

“What do you mean?” 

“This isn’t like…what happened at my wedding, is it?” 

Her eyes widened. “I-” 

“No, Tommen,” Jaime said, seemingly picking up on what he was referring to far quicker than Cersei had. “Your mother’s fine. We’re all just a little tired, that’s all.”

She could hear Brienne laughing a little behind her, but she didn’t turn around to shush her. 

“Oh.” Tommen’s expression brightened. “I’m going to stay here a little longer, if that’s alright.”

“That’s fine, Tommen,” Cersei said. “Enjoy the rest of the night.” 

He smiled innocuously as they walked away from the table. He must have had some idea of what they were doing, but strangely, that didn’t bother Cersei as much anymore. 

“We…” Jaime looked over the crowd. “We can’t go down the middle.”

“No.”

“...Back door?” 

“There’s a back door?”

“If it hasn’t collapsed in on itself in the past few months, then yes.” 

“Right.” 

The three of them turned around sharply, hoping they weren’t drawing too much attention to themselves, and did their best to slip inconspicuously out of the door. Cersei couldn’t quite judge how successful that was: they had all been drinking, and she suspected that she was a _little_ more intoxicated than her companions. 

There was a certain relief that came with leaving the bustling hall, the pressure of scrutiny lifted from her shoulders. As they chatted and laughed on their way upstairs, their voices echoing in the quiet of the empty Keep, she began to feel a little more like herself again. 

“I feel like we’ve abandoned Tommen, the poor thing,” Jaime said. 

“He’ll be fine,” Cersei said. “He said he wanted to stay, anyway.” 

They rounded a corner and reached the door to Cersei’s chambers. She should perhaps have felt embarrassed at her guards seeing her like this, relaxed and happy, not “Queen Cersei” but simply “Cersei”, with her lover and her brother, not her Hand and her Lord Commander, but that self-consciousness was diminishing, slowly but surely. 

“Leave us,” she said, dismissing them with a somewhat theatrical wave of her arm, and they obeyed. 

She practically flung the door open, Brienne still clinging to both of their arms.

She let go of her for a moment to bolt the door behind them, and Jaime immediately rounded on Brienne, engulfing her in a desperate kiss. A low, filthy noise emanated from Brienne’s throat as she lost herself in him, placing a hand on the back of his neck and practically driving him into herself. 

Cersei dove away from the door, placing a kiss squarely on the creamy expanse of skin left revealed by the velvet dress. The noise from Brienne grew louder, as both Cersei and Jaime’s hands moved lower, pulling her deeper into them. 

She ran her tongue sharply up Brienne’s neck to whisper in her ear. “You’ve been absolutely shameless all night. Putting your hand on my thigh, looking at both of us like that.” 

“Hmm, well,” Brienne muttered into Jaime’s mouth, and he grinned lasciviously. “I didn’t see either of you complaining.” 

She pulled the two of them towards the bed.

Jaime immediately got to work on unlacing her dress, and he might have managed quite well with the one hand by now had he not been desperately fumbling. 

“Please don’t rip it off,” Brienne said, gasping as Cersei’s teeth grazed over her soft skin. “It was - _mh_ \- rather expensive.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Jaime said. “It’s too beautiful to rip.” 

“It is,” Cersei said, still leaning against her from behind. There was a mark on Brienne’s skin where her mouth had been, now, and that only spurred on her own desperation. 

Jaime managed to get the front of the gown undone, and Brienne immediately pulled it off, letting it fall to the floor like a subsiding tempest in the midst of the sea. 

“Seven hells,” Cersei breathed, at the same time Jaime muttered “You’re so beautiful.” 

From that point onwards, what happened was a little unclear to Cersei. She allowed her own desire to overcome her, driving her actions, pulling her deeper into Brienne’s body. Indeed, all three of them must have been in the same mindset, and there was no discussion about what would happen before they actually began. 

Perhaps that was the root of the problem, then. 

Because as they kept moving together, a mess of limbs, writhing, wanting, _needing,_ Cersei wasn’t nearly aware enough of what was happening. She must have been more intoxicated than she’d thought, then, because her vision was all blurry at the edges, and she wasn’t sure when it had started, but something didn’t feel right as she moved her way towards Brienne, tried to get lost in her. 

The skin beneath her touch felt unfamiliar - no, not unfamiliar, too familiar, far, _far_ too familiar -

“Wait-”

“Hold on-”

“That’s not-”

“No-”

They pulled away from each other as if they had been burned, falling back onto the bed. 

She stared into Jaime’s eyes, bright green emeralds reflecting the light from her own, filled with panic and discomfort. 

Her hand was shaking, the tips of her fingers where she’d touched him stinging, the inside of his thigh glaring at her. 

They could have looked at each other like that for seconds or an eternity. It didn’t matter. They were frozen either way, in complete shock at what had happened. 

Her head began to pound. 

“No,” she breathed. “No, no, gods, how long did we-”

“I don’t know.” 

Brienne was looking at her. That was all she could assess about the situation. She was _looking,_ and she was - he was - _they were -_

“No,” she repeated. “I can’t-”

She immediately sprang off the bed. _Don’t look at me,_ she kept thinking. _Don’t look at me-_

“Cersei,” Jaime said, sounding just as pained as she was. “What h-”

“Don’t _fucking_ look at me!”

Her voice echoed throughout her chambers, rough and coarse just like the stony walls. 

Her hands were still quivering. Her head was still spinning, and she couldn’t quite make sense of anything, feeling strangely detached from her body, but not the tips of her fingers, not where she’d reached up his thigh, thinking it was Brienne’s, and he’d leaned into it and she’d touched him and for a moment they didn’t stop, not until it was too late, and they’d done it again, and twenty years of _everything_ came flooding back to her -

“No,” she muttered. “No. I-I’m sorry, I-”

She turned around, still confused, still not sure what she was doing. 

Her silk gown had come unlaced a little, and it was slipping off her shoulders, but she didn’t go to fix it. Instead, she walked towards the door. 

“Cersei!” someone said. It might have been Jaime, it might have been Brienne. She couldn’t tell. She hadn’t been able to _tell -_

She slammed the door behind her before they could say another word. 

**-**

“Qyburn?”

She knocked impatiently on his door. “Qyburn!”

“Your Grace, I-”

His friendly smile fell when he saw the expression on her face. She hoped she wasn’t crying, hoped the moisture on her face was just sweat and not tears, and not weakness. 

There hadn’t been anyone to see her weep in the corridors of the Red Keep as she’d walked over to Qyburn’s quarters. She couldn’t even fathom what she might have done if there was. 

“What’s happened?”

She shook her head. “Can I - can I come in?”

“Of course.” He ushered her into his chambers. “If I might ask-”

There was a flagon of wine on his table, and a goblet. She immediately poured herself a glass, gulping it down like a starving man in the desert, not nearly numb enough yet. 

“I see.” He shut the door behind him. “If there’s anything I can do-”

“Can I stay here?” she said weakly - not at all like a queen. Oh, what he must think of her. 

He looked a little puzzled, but he nodded. “You are always welcome here, Your Grace.”

“I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to-” She sniffled a little, and immediately chastised herself. 

“I understand. You can stay as long as you need to.” 

She nodded, and poured herself another glass. She raised it to her lips with a trembling hand, aching to lose that skin-crawling, shuddering feeling that was beginning to engulf her. 

_This is going to be a long night,_ she thought. _I don’t want to think about what’s going to be at the end of it for one second._

So she didn’t. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Sorry it's been a while - I've been alternating my schedule for this with A Rose That Blooms In Winter, so they'll hopefully both update every other week instead of weekly like this fic used to. I hope you enjoyed it (sorry to leave you hanging here) and as always I would love to hear your thoughts and feedback!


	29. Some Mistakes Get Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Cersei struggle to reconcile after their encounter, which has had a damaging effect on both of them. Brienne makes a shocking discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title is from "Moral of the Story" by Ashe.  
> This is kind of a heavy, emotional one, but I suppose that would be appropriate for the situation I've put them in. Sorry about that.

**Jaime**

It was funny, really, how a bed made for two people could feel so empty with only two people in it. 

It was unusual not to be right at the edge of the bed, threatening to fall off if he rolled just a little too far over in his sleep, giving him an excuse to snuggle in and cling to Brienne. Cersei had suggested having a bigger one made, but had never actually gotten around to it, which Jaime attributed to her liking the excuse for even more physical contact just as much as he did. 

But tonight there was plenty of space on the mattress. 

Cersei’s hasty departure last night had left them both shaken and slightly restless in their sleep. As she had stormed off, neither of them had really known how to respond, and had climbed into bed wordlessly. He got the impression, as he tossed and turned, that Brienne wasn’t really asleep either, too perturbed to settle down and stop reliving the events of that night.

It wasn’t as though this was the first time it had just been Jaime and Brienne in that bed together, or just Cersei and Brienne for that matter. It was Cersei’s emotional absence that struck them hardest, her hostility and the way she’d roared at them like a provoked lion.

What was worse was that Jaime, at least sort of, understood why she’d reacted like that. They’d been so caught up in the moment, in Brienne, that they had forgotten each other, hadn’t drawn the lines so clearly before fucking like they usually did. 

He could still feel her handprint on his thigh, the brush of her fingers over his cock, the way he’d grunted and leaned into it for a moment before realising that the hands were too small and smooth to be Brienne’s. As he blinked awake in the early sunlight, that festering feeling was the first thing he was made aware of. 

“Morning,” Brienne said emptily. “I take it you didn’t sleep well, either.”

Jaime shook his head wordlessly, as Brienne sighed. 

“I feel like this is my fault,” she said. 

“Of course it isn’t!”

“I was too reckless at the wedding feast. We didn’t discuss anything beforehand-”

“Brienne, please don’t blame yourself for something you had no control over.” He rolled over, and gently cupped her cheek. “I promise. This is not your fault. It’s ours.”

She chuckled sadly. “You know, I used to have all kinds of worries about the two of you. Even when we were all together. I half convinced myself that it was all a trick, that you were using me to continue your own affair, and you’d cast me aside when you were done with me.” Her voice sped up as she saw his eyes widening in shock. “I know, I know, you would never do that to me. It was a foolish concern, I just...couldn’t shake it for a while.” She flopped her head on his shoulder. “Funny, now that you’re more separated than ever, I can’t stand it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You never mentioned any of that.”

“I didn’t want to...I don’t know, tempt fate. I had this horrible image of the two of you laughing in my face and then...I don’t know. It was a long time ago. But now look at the two of you.”

“Brienne,” he said, moving his hand up to stroke her soft hair. “Don’t ever think things like that. We both love you so, so much.”

She cast her eyes down. 

“Besides. It’s not you she’s angry at, it’s me.”

“Are _you_ angry at her?” 

“I’m angry at the both of us,” Jaime said. “Maybe I should have gone after her right away.”

She looked up at him, her wide eyes mere inches from his. “Do you want me to? Go after her, I mean.”

He took a deep breath. They had spent the night apart from each other, allowing this rift between them to rot and fester and widen. He and Brienne both knew it couldn’t continue any longer without confronting her. 

_Time to face the music, I suppose._

“No,” he said. “I’ll talk to her.” 

“You don’t have to,” she said defensively. 

“You know what kept us together, all those years?” 

Brienne’s eyes flickered sideways, trying to think of a response. “Codependency?”

“We never _talked_ about how we really felt. Any time we had a disagreement, we just...let it fester, or fucked it out, or pretended it never happened until the next one.” He pulled the covers off his body, and began to get up. “We are not about to start that again. I need to talk to my sister.” 

She nodded understandingly as he put his shirt on. 

“Then again, I need to find her to do that. You don’t have any idea where she might have run off to, do you?” 

“...I might have an idea, actually.”

Brienne had been correct in her assumptions. When Jaime showed up at Qyburn’s quarters after some difficult corridor navigation, he was greeted with a hostile glare from the former maester.

“What do _you_ want?” he scowled. 

“I’d like to talk to Cersei. Is she here?” 

The glint of recognition in his eyes told him yes. “I doubt she wants to speak to you right now.”

“She can tell me that herself.”

He didn’t push Qyburn away from the door so much as gently nudge past him, but the man stumbled back like he’d been thrown to the other side of the room. 

“Cersei?” He tried to make his voice as soothing as possible. “Are you al-”

His stomach plummeted as he saw her. Curled up, passed out on Qyburn’s operating table, an empty glass of wine next to her and a jug on a nearby table. _Shit._

She must have drunk a lot, on top of what she’d had at the wedding. She hadn’t drank that much in a long time, especially not in a response to anything. 

He’d felt so proud of her, and she’d clearly been proud of herself, being able to distance herself somewhat from a vice which had plagued much of her life. 

But here she was, unconscious on a cold wooden table, like an invalid. 

“Cersei?” He inched closer to her, not wanting to rudely awaken her. He was in a fragile emotional state after last night, too, and he didn’t want to do anything rash that could hurt either him or her. 

“Cersei.” He got as close to her as he dared - he doubted either of them wanted to touch each other right now. 

_Maybe this was a mistake. Brienne should have handled this, not me, I’ll just make things worse._

But then she blinked her green eyes open, and it was too late. 

“Jaime?” She regarded him with confused, bloodshot eyes. “What-”

A flash of realisation. She jerked back, hiding the hand she had touched him with in the red folds of her dress. 

“Hey,” he said, calming himself as much as her. “Hey.”

She sat upright on the table, away from him, gripping the edge for balance. Maybe she wasn’t even hungover - she might still have been intoxicated, the aftereffects yet to come. 

But she hadn’t run away or stormed out yet, and that was a good sign. 

“I’m not angry at you,” was the first thing she said, and that shocked him. 

“Neither am I,” Jaime said. “Well. Maybe you shouldn’t have stormed out.”

She scoffed, and unconsciously ran her finger along the rim of her wine glass. “Maybe.”

“Hey.” He snatched the glass away from her. “None of that, please.”

The longer he looked at her, the longer he realised what a mess she was. Her short hair, usually neatly arranged, was sticking up all over the place, and she had dark shadows under her eyes. Her voice was still slightly slurred, her eyes unfocused. This had hit her hard, and sent her back to a very dark place. 

It had affected him badly, too, but his dark places were very different from Cersei’s. His were mostly internal - hers had a nasty habit of bubbling up to the surface and scalding those around her.

“Are you going to storm out now?” he asked. 

“I don’t think I have the energy to.”

“Fair enough. Can I...speak with you?” 

She sighed irritably, clearly thinking the same thing he was. _Talking about it is inevitable. We may as well do it now._

“Can I sit?”

She looked apprehensive at the idea of him sitting next to her, but she nodded anyway. 

“Qyburn, can you leave us alone for a moment?”

He nodded begrudgingly, and walked out. Jaime had half forgotten the man was there, but felt much more relaxed as he watched him leave. 

Cersei put her head in her hands. “What the hell happened last night?”

“I wish I knew.”

They sat there in silence for a few moments, unsure of what to say or ask or do, neither wanting to open their mouths. 

“Brienne said it was her fault,” Jaime said hesitantly. 

“It wasn’t even _remotely_ her fault,” Cersei said. “It was ours.”

“If you didn’t want her to think that, you shouldn’t have stormed off. You should know by now, that never solves anything.”

Her eyes seared burn marks into the floor. “What’s done is done. And it’s not as though you could stand to look at me, either.”

“I…” He sighed in frustration. “Maybe not-”

“How did it feel for you?” she asked, cutting off the end of his previous sentence. “Be honest, please.”

How did he even begin to respond to that? “I - it felt awful. Afterwards, I felt all kind of...disgusting, and-”

“Not afterwards. In the moment. How did you feel?”

This felt rather like an interrogation. He got the sense that she was trying to dig something out of him that she couldn’t quite dig out of herself. 

“I don’t know. I...I wasn’t really aware of it until after we stopped, and-”

“I didn’t stop. Not soon enough. And you didn’t stop, either. I don’t know how long it went on for, but for a moment?” She looked up at him, and there was wildfire in her eyes. “It felt _good,_ Jaime. And that scares me more than anything.”

“Is that what you’re scared about?” Her gaze faltered as he spoke. “That we...wanted it to happen, somehow? Because obviously we didn’t, I mean look at us. Would you have reacted like that if we _wanted_ it to happen? It was a mistake, Cersei.”

He tilted his head as he regarded her, trying to understand what she was thinking. 

“You know,” she said, with a sad little smile, “this has never happened before. We’ve both fucked Brienne countless times, and not once have we touched each other for more than a moment.”

“All those other times, we made better preparations, actually discussed things, Cersei. That was our mistake, I think, that we didn’t do that this time. It doesn’t make it alright, but we can learn from this and take it forwards, can’t we?”

She nodded weakly, not looking too convinced. 

“And besides-”

“Did you feel something for me, still, after we parted ways?” 

He frowned. “I’m not sure I understand the question.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I suppose…” He sighed. “For a little while. But they were mostly eclipsed by my feelings for Brienne.”

“I did,” Cersei said. “You know, when I first realised I was falling for Brienne, I thought, gods, it would be so much easier to just crawl back into your bed and be done with it. It wouldn’t have been, of course, but...I think the idea stuck with me longer than I wanted to admit.”

She looked up at him, meeting his gaze again. 

Confusion flared up within him, followed by an immediate jolt of apprehension.

“Oh, no.” She shifted away from him. “Gods, no, I didn’t mean it like _that-”_

“Oh, thank the gods-”

“Is that what you thought this was about-”

“No, no, of course not, I just wanted to make sure-”

“Good, because _no.”_

“No.”

Her gaze fell on the wine glass he had snatched away from her. “Looking back, I think it was more like withdrawals than anything. I didn’t actually want to, but...I needed it anyway.”

“You make it sound rather like an addiction.”

“Wasn’t it?”

He raised his eyebrows. “You seem to have put quite a lot of thought into this.”

“A funny thing happens when you become Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. You find yourself overwhelmed with things you need to care about, and suddenly find a lot of other things to think about instead.”

“Well, I’m glad it’s given you a bit of introspection. Even if it might not always be the most...productive use of your time.”

She laughed, the first time she had done so that morning. “Can you imagine us five years ago, knowing we’d be sitting here having this conversation?”

He scoffed. “We would never have believed it. We were...what was it? _One soul in two bodies.”_

“We came into this world together,” she said theatrically, mocking her past self. “We _belong_ together.”

He all but snorted. “What were we talking about?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

They both sighed, a glimmer of humour in the situation now despite the distress they had been under. 

“I don’t think we tried hard enough,” she said thoughtfully, staring down at her clenched hands. “When we parted ways, I mean. We barely even discussed it, it was just...that was it.”

“We did…I think we did exactly what you did last night. We went too far, pulled out of it, and didn’t deal with the consequences properly.”

She thinned her lips. “Maybe.”

“But there’s no point dwelling on the past, now. What we need to do is think about where we go from here.”

“Well, how do we do that?” She raised her eyebrows pointedly at him. 

“We...I don’t know. Try harder, I suppose. Learn from our mistakes?”

“That’s definitely easier said than done.”

“I suppose so. But so are a lot of things, and we’ve managed them.” 

“Perhaps.”

She stared at the floor again, and Jaime joined her in that, feeling as though a moment of reflection was necessary. 

“Do you think I’m a cold-hearted narcissistic cunt who’s completely incapable of love?”

He snapped his head up in surprise. 

_Um?_ “Where did _that_ come from?” 

She interlocked her fingers, clenching and unclenching her hands. “Just answer the fucking question, Jaime.” 

“Well.” How did he even begin to answer that question? Moreover, what did she want to hear?

“You do.”

“Well, I think it would be fair to say that you can be cold-hearted sometimes. And - I mean, do _you_ think that’s a bad thing? I’m sorry, I still don’t quite see what you’re getting at.”

“I’m not sure I do, either.” She gritted her teeth. “But I just want to hear the truth.”

“Well, do you think it’s the truth?” 

“I know others do. And it’s not like I ever cared what people thought about me. I mean, _the lion does not_ \- no, I won’t give Father the honour of being quoted. But you know what I mean.”

“Unfortunately. To be honest, I’m not sure if that was the best advice.”

“Perhaps not. It certainly didn’t help either of us. But Brienne told me I was one, once.”

“A narcissist?”

She nodded. “ I didn’t want to listen to her at first, but - my whole life, I’d never cared about what anyone said, until she said it. And suddenly I cared what she thought. It was awful, I couldn’t stand it at first, but I think she might have been right.” She huffed. “She usually turns out to be, whether we like it or not.”

Jaime chuckled a little. “You’re right about that. Well, maybe you are, you know. A narcissist. But if I’m honest, I think the Lannisters have always been a family of bloody narcissists, so you’re hardly alone there.”

“Not Myrcella and Tommen. Perhaps Joffrey, but not them.” 

_Perhaps_ Joffrey? That was the understatement of the age. 

“Well, technically, they’re not _Lannisters.”_

“Do you think that’s what did it? Taking the family name away is what finally broke the cycle?”

“We can break the cycle, too. If we try. If we want to.” He raised his eyebrows. “Do you want to?”

“Gods, yes. More than anything.”

“Well, then. Now seems like an excellent time to start, doesn’t it?”

The corners of her mouth twitched. “I suppose it does.” 

The words between them were still stilted, awkward, and they were still sitting at opposite ends of the table. But it was a start, and the pounding in Jaime’s chest had eased.

“You didn’t say anything about that last bit.” 

“What bit?”

“Incapable of love.”

He scoffed. “You’re a lot of things, Cersei, but you’re not incapable of love. You love Brienne, don’t you? And your children.”

“I don’t know. I don’t think I know what love is. I used to think it meant that you would do anything for someone, and I would do anything for them. But Brienne...I think she made me realise that sometimes love means doing _nothing_ for someone.”

She was silent for a moment after that, as if that was the end of that conversation. 

“What does that mean, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She cast her eyes down. “I don’t know how to explain it very well. I just...remember I used to say I would burn cities to the ground for my children?”

 _And for me, and for Brienne._ “Yes?” 

“I thought, this is what love is. That you’d do anything, kill anyone, do all manner of terrible things to keep them safe. But I think…once, Brienne said something along the lines of _promise not to burn any cities to the ground_ to me, back in Dorne. I don’t know. I think it was a joke. But it stuck with me, and I thought maybe it’s not about how far you would go for someone, but how far you _wouldn’t_ go for them. If they asked you not to do something, would you do it for them? Because burning cities to the ground wouldn’t have made Myrcella happy. It probably would have made me happy, but not her. And I think…” She wrung her hands. “I think that’s what love is.”

Jaime blinked. “You seem to have developed a sense of self awareness.”

“Remarkable, isn’t it? I didn’t like it at first, but I think I’m stuck with it now.” She chuckled sadly. “All Brienne’s fault, naturally.”

Did he have that level of self awareness, when he met Brienne? Had she changed his definition of love like she had with Cersei? 

_Yes,_ he thought. _She did. I didn’t know what love was either._

He felt his eyes stinging suddenly. Were those tears threatening to prick at his eyes? 

“Would you throw a child out of the window for Brienne?” she asked him. 

And with that, he _got it._ Understood what she was trying to say. That their definitions of love had been so, so warped by each other, and that they’d had to unlearn it all. Brienne might not have intended it, but she had taught them both what love really was, perhaps without really understanding it herself, at least when she had first met him. 

_Gods, I love that woman._

“No,” he said decisively. 

“Exactly.”

“Exactly,” he echoed wistfully.

“I mean, I love _you,”_ she said. “As a brother, as a friend. I love you more now than I think I ever did when I thought I was _in_ love with you.”

“Me too. Funny how that works out, isn’t it?” 

“The greatest joke of all time.”

He cautiously reached his hand towards her. “I’m sorry.” 

She eyed it suspiciously. “I’m sorry too.”

Cersei took a deep breath, and took his hand. She looked a little uncomfortable at first, and he _felt_ uncomfortable too, but she didn’t pull away. 

He exhaled. “You’re alright?”

“Are you?”

Jaime nodded. “I think so.”

“Me too.”

He grinned. “Now, correct me if I’m wrong, but I think you have an incredible and beautiful woman in your bedroom who’s probably quite distressed, and deserves an apology.”

She gave a little mock-gasp. “However did you know?”

“Because I happen to be in the exact same situation.”

“Wonders will never cease.”

“Not as long as we have Brienne.”

She let go of his hand, and set herself down from the table. “Not as long as we all have each other.”

“Brienne?” 

Jaime knocked on the door, Cersei standing next to him. 

“Brienne? Are you alright?”

His words were met with silence. 

“Is she in there?” Cersei asked apprehensively. 

“She was when I left.” He knocked again, harder this time. “Can we come in?”

“The door isn’t even locked,” Cersei said. She pushed it open without another word. 

“She might have gone back to sleep,” Jaime said, softening his voice. “I don’t want to wake her-”

But Brienne was up now. She was sitting on the bed, a piece of paper in her hand. 

And she was trembling. Her sapphire eyes were wide with - what, fear? Apprehension? 

They grew even wider as she realised that Cersei and Jaime were at the door. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “A raven came - I shouldn’t have read it - it wasn’t for me to-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Brienne, you’re my Hand.” Cersei’s hands were clutching at each other again in fear. “What is it?” 

“It-” Brienne swallowed. “What do you know of Daenerys Targaryen?”

Jaime and Cersei looked at each other in unison, green eyes wide. _Shit. Shit._

Cersei glanced back at Brienne, breathless all of a sudden.

“What are you saying? What - what’s happened?”

Brienne swallowed hard. “I...perhaps it’s best if you read it.”

She stood up, legs shaking a little, and handed the letter to Cersei. Her eyes slid over the parchment hungrily, trying to consume each word quickly and figure out what had distressed Brienne so. 

Brienne and Jaime both eyed her cautiously as she did so, watching her expression change and crumble. 

_Daenerys Targaryen,_ Jaime thought. What had been the last they’d heard of her? They didn’t have as many spies in Essos as they used to, perhaps she had taken another city in the East or - 

Cersei snapped the message in half, gripping it so tight that it split down the middle. 

“No,” she breathed. “No, no, no, not after everything we’ve worked for, everything we’ve done-”

“What is it?” Jaime glanced between her and Brienne, heart beginning to beat faster. “What-”

“She’s coming,” Cersei said hollowly. “She - she’s amassed an army and a fleet of ships, and she plans to sail across the Narrow Sea.”

The two pieces of paper fell from her grasp to the ground, floating to the floor. 

“And she plans to take the Iron Throne.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! This was...a lot, to write, from an emotional standpoint, and it was hard to nail the intricacies of their feelings about their mistake as well as Cersei's own weird sense of self-awareness and Jaime's perception of that. There's been so much going on externally in this story that it just felt right to have this conversation at this dip in tension, and to talk about things that maybe didn't quite get to be discussed at first.  
> Also, I guess this is the end of the "season 6" equivalent of the story, which is crazy. I guess when you're literally some of the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms, dips in tension never last very long.


	30. The Lion and the Kraken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Cersei do their best to adjust to the threat of war, and Brienne comes up with a potentially brilliant solution. They welcome an unreliable ally into the Red Keep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, Season 7, here we go!  
> Oh, and quick note, they don't know Tyrion is Daenerys' Hand here. That information has unfortunately, um, escaped them.

**Brienne**

The sea glimmered menacingly outside their window. 

Usually the sea was a comforting sight to Brienne, having grown up surrounded by it from shore to shore on Tarth, feeling strangely freed by the sight of blue at the horizon. But in the past few weeks, where the threat of Daenerys’ arrival had lingered over them like a dark cloud, it felt ominous, almost, like an enemy ship was about to sail over the horizon. 

It had been a difficult time for all of them, Small Council meetings suddenly becoming impossibly hectic and new, sometimes confusing words coming from the East every day. It had not seemed like such a long time ago that they could all just  _ exist,  _ whether they were the most powerful people in the Seven Kingdoms or not, spend time with the children or spar in the courtyard on mornings like this with the sun streaming in the windows. Even the obstacles they faced back then seemed redundant now: what was one group of fanatics against an army of thousands? 

She tried to savour these moments with Cersei and Jaime, in their chambers. They might have been working, poring over documents and records and letters and trying to figure out how on earth they were going to fight this impossible war, but they were at some semblance of peace. Soon, and none of them could tell how soon, it would all be over, and Brienne would cling to those stressful mornings with her lovers like a chink of sunlight in the darkness. 

“So,” Brienne said pensively, “we think she’ll land on Dragonstone?”

“It would make sense,” Jaime said. “It has ports for the ships, and she was born there. Besides, it’s the ancestral seat of House Targaryen.”

“Do you think she would opt for meaningful over practical?” 

“Isn’t it both?” 

She tilted her head, still looking at the document beneath her but not quite reading it. “I suppose so. So we’re anticipating an attack on King’s Landing from the sea, which means we’ll have to garner support from the West. Now, tactically, we’re in a good position because the Lannister armies themselves will be coming from the West, but we can’t assume that’ll be the only point of conflict. We-” She looked up at Jaime, and caught his eye. 

“Sorry,” she said, suddenly feeling embarrassed at getting ahead of herself. “I know that’s your job, as Lord Commander, I should be focusing on-”

“ _ Brienne,”  _ Jaime said, a sad half-smile appearing on his face. “Trust me. You don’t need to apologise for making a contribution.”

“I know,” she said, the tightness in her chest relieving itself somewhat. 

“And you’re right,” he said, smiling properly now despite the harrowing subject of their conversation. “We do need to consider other places she could attack us. I mean, with an armada that big, she can probably afford to divide her attention to certain other - Cersei, what was it you were saying the other day about…”

His sentence trailed off when she didn’t even respond to her name. She had been bent over her writing-desk since Brienne had awakened, hardly stopping to eat breakfast or even speak to Jaime or Brienne. Her still-short hair looked unkempt and spiky, and her green silk dress hung off her awkwardly. 

“Cersei?” Jaime said, waving his hand even though she was facing away from him. “Hello?”

She perked up suddenly as if she was waking from a deep sleep, inhaling sharply as she turned around. “What?”

“...Are you alright?” Brienne asked. “You haven’t taken a break all morning.”

She sighed, and pressed a piece of parchment to her head. “I’m sure Daenerys Targaryen doesn’t take breaks, either.”

_ “Cersei,” _ Brienne chastised. “We’ve talked about this. You’re not going to win a war by working yourself to death.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, but the expression on her face wasn’t bitter or hateful. “I can try.” 

“What is that, anyway?” Jaime remarked, looking at the letter in her hand. “You’ve been staring at it like it’s going to kill you.”

“It might as well,” Cersei said. “Jon Snow has been declared the King in the North. Sansa Stark sits at his side, along with…” She gritted her teeth. “Margaery Tyrell.”

_ Oh.  _ Silence rang out around the room, Cersei’s chambers suddenly feeling impossibly big and empty. 

“Well,” Jaime said, swallowing uncomfortably. “Shit.”

“Shit indeed,” Cersei sighed. 

_ Is this my fault?  _ Brienne couldn’t help but think. There was no accusation in Cersei’s gaze, just apprehension, and not aimed at her, but Brienne still felt as though letting Sansa and Margaery walk free had allowed this to happen. 

Was this a bad thing, though? Cersei certainly seemed to think it was, that Jon Snow now had control of the North, but Brienne wasn’t so sure. If anything, they were less unpredictable than the Boltons had been as occupants of Winterfell, and while Brienne might never have met Jon, she knew Sansa, and she knew House Stark. 

“I don’t think the Starks would ally with Daenerys,” Brienne said. “From what I know about them, all they ever wanted was the North.”

Cersei’s expression morphed into one of interest, her wildfire eyes piercing Brienne’s. “Go on,” she said. 

“I...uh...Robb Stark never wanted the Iron Throne, and I hardly think Jon wants it, either. When I served Lady Catelyn in the War of the Five Kings, it was never an attempt to usurp Joffrey for the sake of taking the Seven Kingdoms. It was only...anyway. My point is, I don’t think Daenerys would be able to offer them anything that we can’t give them.” She looked back at Cersei.  _ Gods, I hope I’m making sense.  _ “I know you don’t want us to submit to the North. I wouldn’t suggest anything like that. But if we antagonise them, we risk facing a war on three fronts. We stand a chance at winning a war on one - anything more would be foolish.” 

She could feel her mind racing, reaching for the next part of this, because what had started out as a shaky defence had now evolved into, quite frankly, a very important point. “It’s unlikely that they would support us. I haven’t forgotten the history the Lannisters and the Starks have, but Daenerys is a conqueror. She’s an invading force that could pose a threat to all of us. We need to keep the Starks on our side. I’m not sure how we would do that, but...like I said. If they make any demands of us, we might have to negotiate with them, listen to what they want. It could cost us everything.”

“The North is allied with the Tyrells as well,” Jaime pointed out. “There’s no guarantee that they would support us - I mean, you’re right, Brienne, it’s unlikely given our history - but if we keep them at least somewhat on our side, we can keep them away from Daenerys too. They control the food supplies, and winter is co - well, winter is here. We can’t risk losing them.” 

“Exactly,” Brienne said. She looked almost fearfully at Cersei, who had been sitting in silence listening to her speak. Her brow was furrowed, as if thinking it all through, weighing up Brienne’s argument. 

“Are you…” Brienne wished she could see what Cersei was thinking as her eyes unfocused. 

Slowly, but surely, she nodded. 

Then, all of a sudden, she shot up out of her chair and began marching towards Brienne. 

“What are you-” Brienne could hardly comprehend what was happening before Cersei practically flung herself into her and pressed a surprisingly enthusiastic kiss to her lips. 

“Brienne of Tarth,” she said, “have I ever told you that you-” she kissed her forehead just as forcefully as she had her lips, and Brienne flushed at the warm comfort of her touch. “-are the most incredible woman I have ever met?” 

“Once or twice,” she said. Cersei was hanging off her awkwardly, half in her lap and half on the chair she was sitting in. “You two never seem to miss the opportunity to remind me.”

“Why would we?” Jaime asked, his grin full and wide now. “You clearly need very frequent reminding.”

Brienne chuckled despite herself. “I’m glad you seem to think so. So, Cersei, you’ll-” 

“Thank you,” Cersei half-sighed. “I’ve been tearing myself up about the Northern problem for...how long have I been sitting there?”

“An hour?” Jaime offered. 

Cersei chuckled. “Well. There you go. But...you’re right, Brienne. Gods, I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t said that.”

“Thank the gods,” Brienne said. “I didn’t think you would listen.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Brienne couldn’t tell if Cersei was joking or not. 

“Would you like a list?” Jaime said, and Cersei glared playfully at him.

“You  _ can _ be as stubborn as anything,” Brienne said. “But I’m glad you seem to think this is a good idea.”

“We should send a raven to Winterfell,” Jaime said. “We can ask them for their support, in return for…” He shook his head. “I don’t know.” 

Cersei’s eyes suddenly darted to Jaime. “Do you think they would want to secede?” 

“I’m...honestly not sure.”

“Maybe don’t bring up secession initially,” Brienne said. “But should they want it...I mean, I don’t know if that’s something you would be willing to negotiate, but…”

“The way I see it,” Cersei said somewhat reluctantly, “a seceded North is miles better than a North actively fighting against us.”

“You’re right,” Jaime said. “And no matter how much support Daenerys has, she’s still, like you said, a conqueror. We’re on the defensive, and we won’t attack her until she attacks us.”

“Which is exactly the angle we need to play,” Brienne said. “Especially to the North.”

It was moments like this when she appreciated just how  _ well  _ the three of them worked together. Brienne could practically feel the ideas bouncing off each other, the stagnant, stuffy air feeling refreshed again. 

“...You’re still sitting in my lap,” Brienne said, suddenly very aware of Cersei’s weight on her. 

“Oh.” Cersei went to remove herself, looking a little embarrassed. 

“You don’t have to get off,” Brienne said. “I sort of...like it?”

Cersei chuckled. “You  _ like  _ it?”

“Maybe I do. It’s...comforting.”

“Do you think you could fit me in your lap?” Jaime asked. 

“What, on your own? Or at the same time as Cersei, because I genuinely think that would break both of my legs.”

He made a face. “Well, we wouldn’t want to do that. I rather like your legs in one piece.”

“Yes, we all know how much  _ you  _ love Brienne’s legs.”

“Oh, you are certainly one to talk,” Jaime said accusingly. 

As she laughed, Brienne’s eyes settled back on the sea. You could only see a glimpse of blue from where they sat, at the edge of the city where the trading ships came in. 

Then, something caught her eye. 

She instinctively stood up, walking over to the balcony without really realising what she was doing. 

Cersei rolled sideways off her, thankfully realising where she was going before she had the chance to be thrown off, but Brienne hardly noticed her doing so, didn’t even mumble an apology. 

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked. “Brienne?”

The second she set foot on the balcony and the cool wind hit her face, her body flooded with panic.

A number of ships had crested the horizon. They were hardly about to dock on their shore, but their black sails were visible from here, and they were coming towards them. 

“Cersei?” she called, her voice shaky. 

“What is it?” 

“...You might want to come and take a look at this.”

_ She’s here,  _ she thought with sinking terror.  _ She arrived sooner than we thought she would - or our spies lied to us _ , or…

She tried to squint at the sails. She couldn’t make out the red dragon that marked the Targaryen sigil, but perhaps it was too distant to see it, or maybe it was a ship from another of her allies. 

“Shit.”

Cersei’s voice rang out from the entrance to the balcony, probably echoing for all of King’s Landing to hear. 

“I completely forgot,” Cersei groaned. “I invited Euron Greyjoy to discuss an alliance.”

Brienne stared blankly at her for a moment, the panic sitting in her chest unsure of what to do or where to go. 

“Oh,” she said suddenly, and rather anticlimactically. “I remember. You said at the Small Council last week.” 

Cersei looked like she could kick herself. Or maybe someone else, Brienne wasn’t quite sure. “Even so, he said he wouldn’t be arriving for another two days.” 

“That sounds rather like Euron Greyjoy,” Jaime said, appearing in the doorway. 

“You’ve met him?” Brienne asked. 

Jaime shrugged. “Met would be generous. More like encountered. But from what I hear, he’s a rather...unpredictable character.”

“The Iron Islanders are all like that,” Cersei said derisively. “I only invited him because I thought we needed any allies we could get.”

Brienne looked back at the ships. She could see the Greyjoy sigil now, the golden kraken emblazoned across the sails and carved at the helm. 

“Trouble is,” Jaime said, “I’m not sure he’s the type of ally we want.”

“I need to get changed,” Cersei said, and disappeared back into her chambers. 

“Into what?” Brienne shouted after her, but she was already gone. 

Jaime came to stand next to her, leaning over the balcony to peer at the fleet. 

“He brought the entire Iron Fleet?” he said. “That seems a little...extravagant.”

“Do you think it’s still worth receiving him? I mean, we could just turn him away.”

Jaime gritted his teeth. “We haven’t secured the North yet, and who knows what might happen with them. I suppose it would be worth it. I mean, we have the Martells, and the Lannisters, and those Tarth soldiers you’ve been recruiting, but…”

“But that might not be enough,” Brienne said. “And it is a rather impressive fleet. I suppose you’re right.”

The two of them stood there for a moment, looking over the city, admiring the view.

_ This ought to be romantic,  _ Brienne thought incredulously,  _ the two of us being here like this.  _

It was strange how her relationship with Cersei and Jaime carried over into the most serious of matters like that. Not that it was a bad thing, it was just unusual, or so she presumed. She could hardly imagine any other kings of old treating their lovers - or even wives - like this, as their equals in all they did, perhaps not since Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-queens Visenya and Rhaenys. 

Cersei hurried back out to the balcony, smoothing down her hair and fixing her silver crown on top of it. “Right. There we are.”

Brienne’s jaw all but fell to the floor as she took in Cersei’s attire. She wore a black leather gown, cut to her figure until it flared out at the waist, plates of shining silver armour covering her shoulders and a chain connecting the two together. It was quite the contrast from the floaty green dress she had worn earlier, and the sheer power exuding from it made Brienne’s stomach flood with desire all of a sudden. 

She looked absolutely  _ formidable,  _ especially with the crown resting lazily on her head. She could have been a warrior queen looking like that, all she was missing was a sword at her side and a slightly more practical skirt. Just the idea of that sent Brienne’s head spinning, and that was only amplified by Jaime’s presence at her other side. 

Gods, they could be so distracting sometimes. 

“...Why?” Jaime simply asked. 

Cersei shrugged. “I want to make a good impression.”

“You look absolutely terrifying,” he remarked. 

“That’s the  _ point,”  _ she shot back. “Respect through intimidation and all that. You know what the Iron Islanders are like, they won’t respect anything that wouldn’t kill them as soon as they would do the same.”

“Well,” Brienne said, words coming back to her now, “I think it’s...nice.”

“Nice?” Cersei raised her eyebrows. 

“N - nice.” She swallowed. “Sorry, I just-”

“Oh, I see what’s going on here,” Jaime said. “Cersei, remember when you gave Brienne that lovely blue dress?”

Cersei scoffed. “Don’t tell me I’ve rendered the great Brienne of Tarth speechless by changing my gown.”

“Can you blame me?” Brienne scoffed. “You do look absolutely  _ terrifying. _ ”

“I take it you don’t mean that as derisively as Jaime put it.” Her voice had dropped, now, into a low, purring territory, which made the thudding of Brienne’s heart even stronger. 

“Not at all. It’s incredibly attractive.”

“Hmm.” She stepped closer. “I’ll have to remember that.”

“Oh…” Brienne glanced over her shoulder, towards the sea. “We really can’t afford to get distracted right now.”

“No,” Jaime agreed, “we really can’t.”

Cersei took a step back. “Another time, then.”

“Oh, definitely,” Brienne said. 

Jaime sighed. “I’m going to have to get bloody changed too, aren’t I.”

“You don’t have to,” Cersei said. 

“I’m not receiving our potential allies dressed like this,” Jaime said, gesturing down at his rather casual shirt and breeches. “I’ll put my armour on.”

“Are you worried I’ll upstage you?” Cersei asked as he slipped into their chambers. 

“Oh, he definitely is,” Brienne chuckled. “Though I do get where you’re coming from. It’s always good to make a good impression.” 

“Yes, it is.” Cersei glanced at Brienne. “So, this dress…”

_ “Yes.  _ Oh, gods, yes. _ ” _

“Hmm.” A smirk graced her expression. “Noted.”

**Cersei**

_ Oh, this was definitely a bad idea.  _

She could tell from the second he walked into the throne room that everything Jaime had suggested about him was true: that he was a smug bastard with no concern for anyone other than himself. She had always been a quick judge of character, and her judgement of him had immediately been that he was not the sort of person she would want as an ally. 

_ But,  _ she thought, gritting her teeth,  _ I really can’t afford to turn him away. We lost the Freys, and we have no guarantee that the North will not join Daenerys unless we can prevent it from happening. That would be an incredibly stupid move.  _

So she sat there, clutching the arms of the Iron Throne, Jaime and Brienne standing to one side of her, staring him down. 

“The moment I was chosen Lord of the Iron Islands,” he said, “they turned on me. Their own uncle.” 

“...Theon Greyjoy and his sister?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling far more than was appropriate. “They stole my best ships and ran. Sailed them right across the world to the Dragon Queen so that she could take her armies here to attack you.” 

Cersei made futile eye contact with Brienne as they registered this fact. Some of the Greyjoys, then, were allied with Daenerys. 

“Why did you come here?” Cersei said coldly. “What could you possibly stand to gain from this alliance?”

“Can’t I just want to help the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms to keep her throne? One rightful monarch to another?”

She barely suppressed an eye roll. “I’m no fool,  _ Euron.  _ You think I believe you’ve come here out of the goodness of your heart?”

“And you’re not a rightful monarch, anyway,” Jaime said. “If I remember correctly, the Greyjoys rebelled against the throne for the right to be monarchs, but you were soundly defeated.”

Euron’s face fell. 

“Come to mention it,” Jaime continued, “weren’t you the one who started that rebellion? By - and now correct me if I’m wrong, Cersei - sailing to Casterly Rock and burning the Lannister fleets?”

“No, you’d be right there,” Cersei said. “That is exactly what happened. A smart move on your part, perhaps, but evidently not smart enough. You were there, Jaime, weren’t you? On the Iron Islands.”

She wanted desperately to expel Euron from the room, to sit down and evaluate the situation with Jaime and Brienne, discuss whether or not he was worth keeping as an ally. What he might want, how he might get it. 

But they couldn’t do that, not without potentially making an enemy out of him. He didn’t seem like the kind of man to value family loyalty, but if his niece and nephew had flown to Daenerys’ side, there was every chance he might do the same. So they just sat there, all three staring at him with apprehension, trying their best not to kick him out purely from sheer irritation. 

“Oh, I remember that very well,” Euron said, nodding eagerly. “I heard so much talk about you. That you were the best in the world, that no one could stop you. I hardly believed it. But when you broke through the breach and started cutting men down-”

He took a step towards the dais, getting a little too close. Instinctively, or so it seemed from where Cersei was sitting, Brienne reached for Oathkeeper and slid it a few inches out of its sheath. 

Euron put his hands up in mock surrender. “Whoah, there. There’s no need for any of that. I was simply acquainting myself-”

“And I am simply taking precautions,” Brienne snapped. “Might I remind you that you are here under the invitation of Queen Cersei, and her invitation _ only. _ ”

Euron tilted his head thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I know you, my lady. You are a lady, aren’t you? I mean, I wasn’t sure at first, given your stature, but your figure is unmistakable-”

“ _ She,”  _ Cersei said, the anger simmering in her blood suddenly boiling over, “is Brienne of Tarth, my Hand. You will not disrespect her for a second while you are under my battlements.”

Euron’s mouth formed an “o” as his face flooded with recognition. “Oh, I see. Brienne of  _ Tarth.  _ I do know of you, now that you come to mention it. In fact, I’ve heard all sorts of things about you - though nothing our esteemed Queen wasn’t more than eager to share with the Seven Kingdoms. In fact,” he said, and Cersei wanted nothing more than to reach out and snap his neck simply from the tone of his voice, “I imagine you make a rather excellent  _ Hand _ of the Queen. In a multitude of ways.”

Jaime was seething, too, Cersei could see it in his expression. “You’re mocking us.”

“I’m simply making an observation. Ever since I heard about your little...arrangement, I’ve had a number of questions. Do you two take turns with her, or-”

“Enough,” Cersei said. The word came out as more of a roar than a command, and she almost jumped at the echoing of her own voice. “You’ve said enough. Either state your business, or leave. If my reputation precedes me so much, you know I would be more than willing to have Lady Brienne place your head on a spike at the city gates to show everyone exactly how I deal with people who disrespect me.”

_ No, we really can’t do that,  _ she thought, and she risked a momentary sideways glance at Brienne to signal that she wasn’t being sincere. But it was worth it to watch him squirm, to see the fear in his eyes. 

“I see,” he said. 

“Tell us what you want,” Cersei said. “And what you have to offer in return.”

Euron took a deep - now significantly shaky - breath. “You don’t care about the Iron Islands,” he said. “And I don’t blame you. It’s just full of rocks and bird shit. The Iron Fleet, on the other hand...that’s something else entirely. It’s the greatest armada Westeros has ever seen. With the Iron Fleet, you would own the seas. You can defeat the invaders in the East, and the pretenders in the North.”

She gripped the arms of the throne tighter, wishing for all the world that she could dig her fingernails into the cold metal. “And what, exactly, do you want in return?”

“When I was a little boy, I wanted to grow up and marry the most beautiful woman in the world.”

_...Wait, really? _

_ Oh, fuck no.  _

She made furtive eye contact with Brienne, who mouthed  _ What? _

Cersei just widened her eyes and shook her head as if to say  _ I can’t fucking believe this.  _

“So here I am, with a thousand ships, and two good hands.” 

Gods, she wanted to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. She needed to start carrying her sword at her side for moments like this - but a good backhand across the face would probably do the trick just as nicely, and she was perfectly equipped for that.

Instead, she clamped down on the inside of her cheek, trying not to let her irritation show. 

“I decline your proposal,” she said. 

“Why?”

_ You’re a cunt.  _ “You’re untrustworthy. You’ve broken promises to allies before and murdered them at the nearest opportunity. Didn’t you murder your own brother?”

“You should try it. Feels wonderful. And you wouldn’t have to share anymore - I was never any good at sharing with my siblings, and I can’t imagine you’re any better. It’s in our nature, I’m afraid.”

“There is no  _ our,”  _ Cersei seethed, “and there is no  _ we.  _ And besides.” She looked over at Brienne, making sure both she and Euron noticed. “A good queen only has need of one Hand.”

Brienne suppressed a grin, her cheeks flushing with colour. 

Euron’s smug grin faltered. “I don’t expect you to trust me outright. No, you need proof of my honest intentions. In my experience, the best way to a woman’s heart is with a gift.”

“The only gift I want is that of your absence,” she said coldly. 

“Oh, don’t worry, Your Grace. I’m leaving now, anyway. But I will return to King’s Landing with a priceless gift, and believe me, it’s not one you’ll want to refuse.”

With that, he turned on his heel and walked away, not so much as glancing back. 

_ What in the world could he mean by that?  _ She had a sneaking suspicion that whatever he was threatening to give her wasn’t the type of gift you might receive for your nameday. 

It wasn’t until he walked out of the doors and they thudded shut behind him that Cersei felt like she could properly exhale. 

She threw her head back and sighed. “Well, that was a fucking waste of time.”

“I hate to say  _ I told you so,”  _ Jaime said, “but-”

“Oh, believe me,” Cersei said. “You can say it.”

Brienne scoffed. “And here I was hoping we were about to be proved wrong about him. So much for keeping an open mind.”

“I am so sorry,” Cersei said. “I can’t believe he said all those disgusting things about you.”

“I can’t believe he proposed to you!” Brienne said incredulously. “I was not expecting that.”

“At least now we know what’s in it for him,” Jaime said. 

“Then again,” Cersei said pensively, “he’s right about one thing. The Iron Fleet is the greatest armada Westeros has ever seen.” 

Jaime and Brienne both gaped at her. 

“Oh, calm  _ down,”  _ she said. “I’m not going to accept his proposal or anything. No, I’ll just have to figure out a way to keep him on our side without giving in to his demands. He doesn’t seem like the type to compromise, and neither am I.” 

“What an idiot,” Brienne said. “You know, when you said the thing about having me put his head on a spike outside the city and then looked at me, I thought you were being serious for a second.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

“Well.” She gripped the lion pommel of Oathkeeper. “That might be the only thing stopping me from decapitating him when he comes back.”

Cersei laughed out loud at that, allowing the sound to echo around the stuffy throne room. She still felt a tightness in her chest and stomach, and a distinct rage towards the man who had been standing before her mere seconds ago. 

“I don’t know about you two,” Jaime said, “but I could definitely do with a few rounds of sparring. You know, to let off some steam after that ordeal.”

Brienne frowned. “Do you mean actual sparring, or…”

“No!” Jaime chuckled. “I mean, yes. Actual sparring.”

“Oh, gods, yes,” Cersei said, pulling herself out of the throne and smoothing down her gown. “We haven’t done that in ages.”

“It’s a little chilly to go down to the yard,” Brienne noted. “We might have to stay indoors. After all, winter is here.”

Cersei scoffed. “We are not going back to our chambers. The ‘no swords in the bedroom’ rule will not change no matter how much snow falls upon King’s Landing.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really, Jaime.” Cersei rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so disappointed.”

“Well,” Brienne said. “I’m sure we’ll find somewhere.”

“Yes.” Cersei nodded brightly as the three of them began to step off the dais. “I’m sure we will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback in the comments!


	31. A Fighting Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Cersei continue to make preparations for Daenerys' arrival in Westeros, waiting anxiously from a response from the North. Qyburn reveals something which could change the game entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of these disclaimers again: I don't hate Daenerys. This is not an anti-Daenerys fic, and the idea of Daenerys as a 'conqueror' isn't something I'm trying to perpetuate. It's just the political angle Cersei and co. are taking here.  
> I feel like I make these disclaimers a lot, but I just want to be clear about my opinions of certain characters and that I'm not trying to bash them by having characters in my fics act against them.  
> Except (show) Euron. Fuck (show) Euron.  
> Anyway.

**Cersei**

The fires in the throne room burned hotter every day, trying desperately to dispel the growing cold. 

When they’d received word that winter had come, Cersei hadn’t expected it to become quite so literal quite so soon. There was an unmistakable chill in the air now, even this far south, and the nights were growing longer and darker. She highly doubted it was going to be _the worst winter for a thousand years_ as some fools claimed, but it certainly wasn’t going to be pleasant. 

The arrival of winter was only going to further complicate the already fragile situation, with Daenerys threatening to arrive at their shores any day now. So, here Cersei sat, in front of two dozen or so southern bannermen, all but pleading for their assistance. 

She’d opted to wear an old purple dress of hers, and she’d thought she’d been extremely clever in her choice. No Lannister reds, no black and silver for intimidation, just a relatively neutral colour that she’d hoped would inspire something resembling unity. But right now, the only effect it had was making her really fucking cold. 

“I understand that some of you are former bannermen of House Tyrell, but did not follow them North,” Cersei said. “As of now, the North remains neutral, but that could change at any moment. But that does not matter.”

They were still waiting on a response from the North, but they had only sent it a few days ago, and Jaime and Brienne had urged her to be patient. Outwardly, she had nodded and agreed, but with every passing hour she couldn’t help but feel as though anything resembling support from the North was a lost cause. Something in her knew that they would end up siding with the Targaryen girl, against her, leaving them isolated. 

Even worse, that meant they might actually have to consider Euron’s offer, and the idea of marrying him made her want to vomit right there on the dais. 

“What matters to us all now,” Cersei said, “regardless of house loyalty, is defending the seven kingdoms from a conqueror. The Mad King’s daughter intends to bring a ruthless army of savages to our shores. Unsullied soldiers who would destroy your castles and your holdfasts, Dothraki heathens who will burn your villages to the ground and butcher your women and children without a second thought.”

She saw fear flicker into a few of their eyes, which spurred her on. 

“This would be a war like no other,” Cersei continued. “Our great kingdoms have been war-torn for years now, and the high lords are just as tired of it as the smallfolk are. But the threat of the Dragon Queen reaching our shores is real, and we cannot afford to sit around and wait until that happens. We have to prepare to defend ourselves when she attacks.”

That was the angle they had been playing. Daenerys attacked, they defended. She was the ruthless conqueror, they the great nation under threat. There was a lot of truth in that, she supposed, but she also knew that some might be inclined to join her. The Greyjoy children had turned to her side, and if they could be convinced, others from Westeros could, too. So she had to play on their fears, the idea of the status quo being disturbed and the world they loved under threat, without outwardly terrorising them. 

She was sure Daenerys was spitting a similar rhetoric at her supporters, too, that Cersei was a cruel, tyrannical queen whose reign of terror had to be stopped. That Westeros needed saving from itself, needed to be born anew. 

But she couldn’t play into that even slightly, no matter how tempting it was. The urge to intimidate these men into supporting her had been strong, but speaking with Brienne and Myrcella at her small council meetings had made her realise one thing: in order to defeat Daenerys, she had to prove her wrong. So far, that strategy seemed to be working well, as the lords in front of her looked as though they were listening to her. 

“My duty as Queen is to protect the people, and I will, but I - we cannot do it alone.” She allowed herself a small sideways glance at Jaime and Brienne before continuing, her eyes falling on them of their own accord. “I need your help, my lords. We must stand together, all of us, if we hope to stop her.”

A man at the front of the crowd stepped forwards, and Cersei’s heart teetered in the balance between rising and sinking. She prayed that he intended to express his support for her, but the grim expression on his face suggested otherwise. 

Nevertheless, she kept her face still and composed as he approached. 

“She has three full-grown dragons, Your Grace,” he said. 

_Yes, thank you, I am aware,_ she thought, suppressing an eye roll. 

“The same as Aegon when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms. How do you propose we stop them?”

The man - a Tarly, from what Cersei could remember - looked almost smug as he made his point, which drove Cersei’s grip tighter around the arms of the Iron Throne. 

“I…” Her voice faltered, and she resisted the urge to kick herself. 

“We are currently working on a solution,” Jaime offered, stepping in. “But dragons are not invincible, and neither is she. As Lord Commander of the Lannister army, I have every confidence that we will be able to fight her.”

A questionable half-truth on Jaime’s part, but it seemed to have an effect on their audience. He wasn’t being completely dishonest: Qyburn had suggested cryptically that he would work something out that would help them take down Daenerys’ dragons. 

The trouble was, none of them had any idea what that might entail. Cersei loved Qyburn, appreciated his acquaintanceship and all the work he did for the crown, but his methods could be more than a little...unconventional, sometimes. 

She turned back to the lords in front of her, her expression hopefully only a little icy. “I understand you may have your reservations. These are unprecedented times, but I sincerely hope you will take up my offer. For the sake of all of Westeros, and your own.” 

“I think that went quite well,” Myrcella said. She and Tommen walked either side of Cersei, the three of them making their way alongside the courtyard. “All things considered, I mean.”

“Do you think so? They didn’t seem particularly convinced.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she chuckled. “I was standing down with them, and believe me, they seemed convinced.”

Tommen nodded in agreement. “Especially with all of that talk about the Dothraki and the Unsullied. A few of them looked positively terrified.”

Cersei had a feeling that that included him, too. Tommen might not have been a child anymore, but she still felt awfully protective of her youngest, tempted to shield him from the impending horrors. 

Her children had already seen so much war at such a young age, and the last thing she wanted for them was more of that. She had grown up surrounded by war, too, and it had hardly helped. 

She couldn’t protect them forever. But she could certainly try. 

“Oh! I almost forgot,” Myrcella said. “Trystane has been in contact with Prince Doran. The Dornish fleet will defend the capital from the sea. Even if we can’t get the Iron Fleet on our side, we’ll still have some naval defence.”

Cersei grimaced at the mention of the Iron Fleet. “Let’s just pray it won’t have to come to that.”

“Is it true?” Tommen asked. “Will you have to...you know? Marry Euron Greyjoy?”

She inhaled deeply, trying to dispel the irritation that came at the mere mention of his name. “That was the offer that was made. The Iron Fleet, in exchange for my hand. But I’m sure I’ll find some way around it.” She wasn’t. But Myrcella and Tommen certainly didn’t need to know that. 

“I almost wish I could have been there when he visited,” Myrcella chuckled. “He sounds like quite the character.”

The idea of him anywhere near her children made her skin crawl. “Believe me, you didn’t miss much. And you certainly don’t want to hear the awful things he said about Brienne and I.”

“Oh.” Myrcella’s face fell. “I’m so sorry.”

Cersei grimaced. “Believe me, I’m more than used to it by now.”

They walked in silence for a moment, along the now slightly chilly corridor. The fact that winter had come was becoming more and more noticeable every day, and Myrcella and Tommen had both taken to wearing slightly thicker fabrics and the occasional cloak. Trystane had been adjusting particularly poorly: the winters in Dorne were never as cold as they were in King’s Landing, and the sight of him in a fur cape at a family dinner had sent them all into hysterics.

As they walked together, they received a few uncouth stares from various nobles as they passed, the occasional whisper and averted gaze. _Yes,_ she thought bitterly, _how dare I walk with my children in my own castle. How absurd of me._

“Will Uncle Jaime have to go away?” Tommen asked. “If there is a war, I mean.”

It didn’t seem like it was a matter of if, but _when._ However, she didn’t correct Tommen, not wanting to strike any more fear into his heart. 

“Jaime…” She sucked a breath between her gritted teeth. “Jaime is commander of the Lannister army now. So, if there is any actual fighting...yes, I suspect he will.”

Both Myrcella and Tommen’s faces fell. 

“But, listen!” she said quickly. “Jaime’s a smart man, and an excellent swordsman. He can protect himself, and he’s come out of battle unscathed plenty of times before. You don’t have to worry about your f - uncle.”

But all of those other times, the enemy hadn’t had three dragons. Even the Mad King himself didn’t have that kind of power. 

What was worse, it might not just be Jaime going off to fight. They’d only brought it up briefly, but there was a rather significant possibility that Brienne would be going with him, when the situation arose. The army needed her expertise and leadership, and while she might have been the Hand of the Queen now, she was still probably the best swords-person in the Seven Kingdoms. Cersei had never had the privilege of seeing her in a proper battle, but she hardly needed to imagine: she knew she would be absolutely formidable, and she was more than willing to fight. But that would mean leaving Cersei alone, and -

“Your Grace?” 

A voice snapped her out of her train of thought. 

“I - Qyburn?” She spotted the Maester walking towards her hurriedly, weaving through the various lords and ladies in the hall. 

“Thank the gods I found you,” he said. Cersei could see Tommen and Myrcella stepping back in his presence, clearly a little unsettled by him. “I need to speak with you.”

She glanced at her children. “Is it urgent?” 

“Quite.” He looked around him, and lowered his voice. “It would be better if we didn’t discuss it out in the open. Could you follow me to the dungeons?”

The dungeons? What was so desperately secret that they could only discuss it far beneath the Red Keep?

“Alone?” she muttered. 

“You...may bring Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne, if you wish. It would probably be easier that way.”

_Um?_ “Right.”

She turned back to Tommen and Myrcella, both of whom looked quite pale. 

“Sorry,” she said. “Would it be alright if you, uh, ran along? This is-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Myrcella said. “I should be getting back to Trystane again, I promised I’d go for a walk with him.” 

“Of course. Enjoy yourselves.” 

She smiled, and went off in the direction of her chambers. 

Tommen nodded politely as Myrcella left. “I’ll see you at dinner?”

Cersei smiled, despite the fear building decisively in her stomach. “Of course.”

She turned around to face Qyburn again as Tommen walked away. “Wh-”

But Qyburn was already gone. 

**Brienne**

“Be honest,” Brienne said cautiously. 

Jaime turned to look at her as they walked alongside each other. “Honest about what?”

“Do you really think that we’ll be able to fight Daenerys, like you said?” 

She’d wanted to believe them, she really had. But she knew just as well as he did that it had been an exaggeration at best. 

He sighed, and lowered his voice. “I wish I knew. I mean, she does have three dragons. I don’t think any of us can even conceptualise that. Then again, Qyburn did say he was working on...something. I don’t know.”

“Call me cynical, but I’m not so sure Cersei’s right to trust that man,” Brienne said. “He’s so...cryptic.”

“Cryptic, and completely unnerving,” Jaime said. “But he is good at what he does…”

He trailed off, his gaze slipping away from her and to her right. “Oh, look, there’s Randyll Tarly.”

Jaime immediately started walking towards him, as Brienne struggled to turn around and catch sight of who he was looking at. 

“Lord Tarly,” Jaime said. Randyll, accompanied by a young man Brienne assumed was his son, was walking hurriedly in the other direction to them, seeming to be in quite a huff. He looked rather taken aback as Jaime stopped him in his tracks.

“Ser Jaime,” he said curtly. “Lady Brienne. I take it you remember my son?”

Jaime looked at the man next to him. “Um. Rickon, was it?”

_No, that was the Stark boy._

“Dickon.”

Brienne suppressed a chuckle. Gods, that must have been an unfortunate name to have. 

She stretched her rather immature smirk into a warm, welcoming smile, doing her best to play the gracious host. 

“Thank you so much for coming,” she said warmly. “The other lords of the Reach all look up to you, and they might not have come if you hadn’t. We appreciate all you can do for-”

“I haven’t agreed to anything yet,” he said, and Brienne’s face fell. “I am only here because when my queen makes a demand of me, I answer it.”

“Was it a demand?” Jaime asked. “More of a, uh…”

Randyll’s face remained steely, and he shut his mouth. 

“Anyway,” Jaime said, rather awkwardly. 

“You say you haven’t agreed to anything yet,” Brienne said, allowing her tone to become more steely. “So what exactly is stopping you?” 

“I’m not quite sure what’s being demanded of me. Her Grace commanding me to stand with her against a foreign invader is one thing, but none of us actually know what that looks like.”

Jaime inhaled slowly. “I want you to be my ranking general in the wars to come,” he said. “I want you to swear allegiance to Cersei, and to help us protect all of Westeros.”

“Protect all of Westeros,” Randyll said hesitantly, “or destroy her enemies?”

“Cersei has no personal quarrel with Daenerys,” Brienne said sharply. “This isn’t some petty war based on vengeance. Perhaps you do not understand the scope of it-”

“Oh, I understand the scope of it perfectly well,” he said, far too calm. “Just as I understand the nature of the Queen herself.”

“You do not know her as well as I do.” Brienne wasn’t sure when her voice had become so passive-aggressive, but the defensive anger flaring up inside her maintained that. “I’m no fool, I understand that she can be vindictive, but I also know _she_ knows that this war goes beyond petty house rivalries. It affects all of us.”

Randyll scoffed. “It’s funny you should say that. Olenna Tyrell told me the very same thing before she departed for Winterfell.”

Jaime and Brienne made frantic eye contact all of a sudden, the mention of Olenna and the North spurring them to action. 

“What did she say?” Jaime urged. 

Randyll straightened his posture, and gritted his teeth. “I swore an oath to House Tyrell. And I intended to remain loyal to that - the Tarlys are not oathbreakers, we don’t stab our rivals in the back or cut their throats at weddings.”

Brienne saw Jaime tense up at that comment, but he seemed to swallow his infuriation down. 

“But I believe she has quite lost her mind of late,” Randyll continued. “Before she left, she started talking of strange things - dead men beyond the wall, coming back to life like the White Walkers of legend. She claimed she rode north to aid the Starks in the fight against them, said it was to protect the whole Seven Kingdoms - I don’t know. I couldn’t make sense of it. But I can’t fight for that, can’t support a baseless claim. I am a man of honour, but also a man of logic.”

Brienne frowned. Why would Olenna Tyrell possibly be speaking of White Walkers? 

From the puzzled look on Jaime’s face, he didn’t understand it any better than she did. Was Randyll right, and she was going mad, or was there something more sinister at work here? The last Brienne had seen of her, she had seemed perfectly alright. 

“Well,” Jaime said. “I’m sorry that you feel betrayed by the Tyrells. But we - I understand your priorities. I know you don’t like my sister, but-”

All of a sudden, Brienne felt the presence of someone behind her, and she whipped her head around. 

“Oh.” She did a double take as she saw who was standing there. “Cersei?” 

There was a look of urgency on her face, and that unsettled Brienne slightly. 

“Listen,” Cersei said, her voice low. “I need you and Jaime to…” She trailed off as she caught sight of Randyll Tarly. 

“Lord Tarly,” she said coldly, her expression settling into a regal stare. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

He bowed his head. “Your Grace.”

“I take it I can expect your support?” She wasn’t asking, not really. 

“I…” For all Randyll’s talk, he seemed to be rather nervous in Cersei’s presence. “I will write to you when I am certain of the situation.”

The corners of Cersei’s mouth twitched. “That’s an awfully polite way of saying no.”

“I - I will do what I can.”

She nodded. “Good.”

Perhaps Brienne shouldn’t have found Cersei’s authoritative nature so attractive, especially when she had far more important things on her mind, but she couldn’t help the flush of her cheeks as she stared Randyll down. 

Cersei glared at him expectantly for a moment, her eyebrows raised. 

“...Oh,” Randyll said, seemingly rather embarrassed all of a sudden. “I’ll…”

He turned around and walked away, even more hurriedly than before. 

“Sorry about him,” Jaime said. “I was trying to-”

“I need both of you to come with me,” Cersei said, halfway under her breath. 

“What for?” Jaime seemed just as unnerved by the concerned tone of Cersei’s voice as Brienne was. 

“It’s Qyburn,” she said, and Brienne’s first thought was _oh fuck._ “He wants us to join him beneath the Keep.”

“Is he being cryptic again?” 

Cersei chuckled. “When isn’t he?”

“Fair point.”

“I’m not being funny,” Jaime said, “but do you think this - whatever this is - is safe?”

Cersei shrugged. “What’s the worst thing that could happen?”

“Something explodes, and we die?”

She looked like she didn’t quite know how to respond to that one. “...I have a feeling it might be worth the risk.”

Brienne had never been this far down beneath the Keep before. 

They’d been in vaguely familiar territory when walking past the Black Cells, but Qyburn had taken them even further, into seemingly endless labyrinthine corridors that only got darker and mustier as they continued to go down. 

It felt rather like sinking down to the bottom of the ocean. Even more so when she spotted a huge dragon skull, and almost jumped out of her skin. 

“Seven hells,” she breathed to herself. “Is that-”

“They’re real,” Qyburn said. “And they’re precisely why we had to come down so far. I do apologise for the inconvenience.”

At the suggestion of more than one dragon skull, she turned around, searching for others in the dim candlelight. Sure enough, there were two more, the sockets where their eyes had been all firmly fixed on the four of them. 

“That’s…” Brienne swallowed. “That’s terrifying.”

“You should have seen them when they were in the throne room,” Jaime said. “Robert Baratheon removed them when he became king, but when the Mad King had them...well, they certainly served their purpose.”

“Curious that Robert did not have them destroyed,” Qyburn said thoughtfully. 

“They were his trophies,” Jaime said. “In a metaphorical sort of way.”

“Besides,” Cersei quipped, “they would have made him look rather small.”

Brienne chuckled a little, despite the fear that clawed at her. 

“Anyway,” Cersei said. “I can’t imagine you dragged us down here to gawk at dragon skulls.”

“In a way, I did,” he said. He wasn’t looking at any of them as he spoke: instead, his gaze was firmly fixed on the giant skull in front of him. 

“Balerion the Black Dread,” he said, oddly wistful. “The beast that Aegon rode across the sea. His flames forged the Iron Throne, and brought the Seven Kingdoms to heel.”

Brienne glanced awkwardly at Jaime. “Are we here for a glorified history lesson?” she muttered in his ear. 

Unfortunately, it seemed sound carried rather well in this kind of space, because Qyburn turned around. 

“Lady Brienne. At this point, I would recommend looking behind you.”

_Um?_ She turned her head around cautiously, not quite sure what he was getting at -

“What is _that?”_ Cersei asked incredulously. 

She couldn’t believe she hadn’t seen it before, hidden in the shadows. There was some kind of giant weapon sitting down here: she couldn’t quite make out what it was in the dark, but it looked like it could do a lot of damage. 

Cersei immediately started walking towards it, the candlelight flashing in her eyes. 

“Apparently, one of Daenerys’ dragons was wounded at the fighting pits of Meereen,” Qyburn said. “And if they can be wounded, they can be killed.”

Jaime blinked in surprise. “This is what you were talking about before,” he said. “This is what - I promised those lords that we would be able to fight Daenerys.”

“Well, those are not empty promises any more, Ser Jaime.” He beckoned the three of them over as he went to stand behind the weapon. 

“The finest blacksmiths and artilleters in King’s Landing have been working day and night for this.” 

Brienne peered at it as she got closer. It looked rather like a giant crossbow - a scorpion, she remembered. But she had never seen one this big.

“I really don’t pay you enough, do I?” Cersei said, running one hand along the side of it. 

“Believe me, Your Grace. The freedoms you give me are payment enough. Now…”

Brienne looked down the length of the scorpion, and noticed that it was pointing squarely at the forehead of Balerion’s skull. 

“Shit.” She couldn’t stop herself from cursing as she realised the purpose of this weapon. “This is - for-” 

“Yes,” Qyburn said. “Your Grace, if you’ll pull that lever.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “I - I don’t know how to operate this-”

“It’s simple. All you have to do is pull.” 

Cersei still looked relatively sceptical, but she put her hand on the lever anyway. 

“You two might want to step back,” she muttered to Jaime and Brienne. “If anything goes wrong…”

Brienne nodded, and backed up against the wall. 

Cersei looked at the lever for a moment, gripping it so tightly her veins were visible in the low light. 

Then, she pulled it. 

The bolt hit Balerion with an earth-shaking crack. It slammed into the skull like a knife through butter, shattering it into a thousand pieces. 

The four of them just stared at the destroyed skull in sheer awe and terror. 

“...Fuck,” Cersei breathed, her hand coming away from the weapon. Her mouth was agape, half in shock, half in satisfaction. 

“Fuck indeed,” Brienne muttered. “That - that-”

“That could destroy one of Daenerys’ dragons,” Jaime said. “Just like that.”

Brienne stared again at the ruins of Balerion, trying to comprehend what she had just seen.

With a weapon like that, they stood a fighting chance. 

No. With a weapon like that, they could win the war. 

The three of them flopped back into their chambers a little while later, thoroughly worn out from the day’s proceedings, but feeling at least a little more hopeful. 

“I don’t know about you two,” Jaime said, already rubbing his forehead, “but I’m going straight to bed.”

“Me too,” Brienne agreed. “Cersei, you’d better not be planning on staying up all night staring at things you have no intention of finishing.”

Cersei put one hand on her hip. “Is that an order?”

“It’s advice,” Brienne said, mock-sternly, “from your Hand. I’m just doing my job.”

She tutted. “Alright.”

“You know it makes sense-”

“What’s that?” 

Brienne turned around to see Jaime walking towards the windowsill, peering at something. 

“Oh,” Cersei said. “A raven must have come while we were gone.”

Slowly, but very surely, Jaime’s eyes widened. “You don’t think-”

“Shit,” Brienne said, realising what he was getting at. “It might be.”

Immediately, Cersei scrambled across the room to the window, barely dodging a stray chair in the middle of her chambers. Brienne had hardly seen her run before, let alone _scramble._

Then again, if this raven was what they thought it might be…

Cersei unrolled the letter so quickly Brienne was afraid it might rip, and held it up towards the candles.

“Dear Lady Brienne-” Cersei came to an abrupt stop as she read that. “Oh.”

Brienne frowned. “It’s for me?”

Cersei's eyes flickered to the bottom of the letter, and she her mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise. 

Jaime looked between the two of them. “What’s going on?” 

“It’s from Sansa Stark,” Cersei breathed. 

_Shit._ “Please tell me it’s the North agreeing to our terms.”

She was half inclined to squeeze her eyes shut and pray, and half to run over to Cersei and snatch the letter out of her hands. 

But if it was the North pledging allegiance - or at least opening communication with them, making some demand of them - then why had it been addressed to her and not Cersei? 

“...I don’t like that look,” Jaime said. 

“What look?” Cersei looked up innocently from the letter. 

“ _Smirking._ Are you going to tell us what you’re reading there, or…?”

“Sansa seems to think,” Cersei said, still scanning the page with her eyes, “that she sent this to Brienne in strictest confidence. Well, it doesn’t say that explicitly, but given the rather unsavoury things she has to say about me-”

Brienne winced. “Sorry.”

“Believe me. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before. Anyway…” She muttered to herself as she continued to read. “Ah! Here we are. ‘My brother Jon is questioning whether or not to give in to Cersei’s demands, saying he feels as though he cannot trust her. I will admit that I, too, was rather hesitant: I can hardly imagine Her Grace demanding peace of any sort. In fact, that’s why I’m writing to you: while we may have some conflict of interest, I know you want what’s good for the realm.” Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Clever girl. She must have recognised it sounded like your idea.”

“So…” Brienne said tentatively. “Do we have the North on our side, or…”

“Right.” Cersei took a breath, and carried on reading. “‘But I also understand that putting our conflict behind us is the only way to move forwards. I cannot say I forgive the Lannisters for what they have done, but Westeros is entering a new era of leadership, and if those new leaders can somehow manage to work together, it will be better for us all. I will continue to persuade my brother to respond to Her Grace, but in the meantime know that I am more than willing to open communications with the South, should you keep your promises. Regards, Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell.” 

She set the letter down on her lap, and immediately wrung her hands together. 

So they had the North in their corner, except they didn’t. Brienne’s idea had worked - except it hadn’t, not really, not where it mattered. Convincing Sansa was all well and good, and she couldn’t help but feel a _little_ flicker of pride at that, but she wasn’t King in the North. They needed Jon on their side, and that looked like it would take even more effort. 

“So close,” Cersei said irritably, more to herself than to Jaime or Brienne. “Just...not quite close enough.”

“It rather sounds like they think we have all the power here,” Jaime noted. “I’m not quite sure what to make of that.”

“It doesn’t mean we _do_ have all the power,” Brienne said hesitantly. “But, by the sound of it, the North doesn’t quite have the upper hand we thought it did.”

She clicked her tongue thoughtfully, staring into the star-studded night. 

“I can’t help but notice there was no mention of Daenerys,” she said. “Perhaps she isn’t as interested in finding more Westerosi allies as we thought.”

“Yet,” Cersei said. Her eyes were completely unfocused. “I suspect it’s only a matter of time.”

Brienne turned to look at Cersei. Jaime had been right - her eyes were full of that wicked glint, and she was borderline _smirking._

“What are you plotting?”

Cersei looked up abruptly. “I’m not plotting. I’m simply...thinking.”

“About?” Jaime asked. 

“...Sansa doesn’t know Jaime and I have read this. She doesn’t trust us. But she trusts you.” She looked pointedly at Brienne. “I might have to make a _slightly_ dishonest request of you.”

“I can handle a little dishonesty, Cersei. Besides, I doubt Sansa is being completely honest, either.”

“Keep in contact with Sansa. Do exactly what you said: open communications with the North, but do it in secret. Make her think she’s just writing to you, when in reality…” She gestured between Jaime and herself.

“You really think Sansa would work with us behind Jon Snow’s back?” Jaime said dubiously. 

“It won’t be with us, though. It’ll be with her.”

That was maybe a little more dishonesty than Brienne was accustomed to. She couldn’t help but hesitate as Cersei spoke. 

Then again, if it would help keep the North on their side, and heal relations between their families…

Perhaps that wasn’t at the top of Cersei’s list of priorities, but it was certainly near Brienne’s. And if their intentions weren’t in conflict with each other, surely the end justified the means. If not in every situation, then certainly in this one. 

“I’ll do it,” Brienne said, nodding slowly. 

Cersei beamed up at her, the tension Brienne had seen running through her somewhat relaxed. “Thank you.”

“We should probably think this through before we start,” Jaime said thoughtfully. “Write our response carefully. If we want to play the long game, we can’t afford to make careless mistakes right at the beginning.”

“Of course,” Cersei said. 

The three of them looked expectantly at each other for a moment. 

“...We can do that in the morning, though,” Brienne said. 

“Oh, definitely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.


	32. A Gift Not Wanted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Euron arrives back in King's Landing with the 'gift' he promised Cersei, and his presence continues to cause a disturbance despite the fact that they need his ships. At least Jaime, Brienne and Cersei have each other...for now, at least.

**Cersei**

“If we can mobilise the Lannister armies here and here,” Jaime said, indicating two places on the map with his finger, “then we can have most of the points of conflict defended in case of an attack.”

Myrcella peered over at the map. “So we’d have the Dornish ships stationed on the other side of the bay, a few miles from the waterfront. Are they...I mean, hypothetically, would they be our first line of defence, and the cavalry just a reserve, or…”

“If we let her turn it into a purely naval battle, we don’t stand a chance,” Cersei said. The lines and figures on the map were starting to become a little blurry, she’d been staring at it for so long. But they needed to make these plans sooner rather than later. Daenerys had landed at Dragonstone, now, and they didn’t have a second to lose. 

“Perhaps not,” Trystane said thoughtfully. “The Dornish fleet has a number of much smaller ships, which we could station along the Rush. She might not expect to be attacked from this angle-”

“Your Grace.”

The panicked, breathy voice of a guard cut through the buzz of the Small Council meeting, and Cersei sighed in exasperation. 

“We are in the middle of a meeting,” she said, keeping her tone as level as she possibly could. “What do you want?”

He swallowed nervously, his pallid face growing even whiter. “Euron Greyjoy is on his way to the Red Keep.”

Cersei rolled her eyes, and out of the corner of her vision she saw Brienne do the same. “Send him up. I don’t need to give him the attention of greeting him in the throne room again.”

“No, Your Grace.” He shook his head stiffly. “He - he’s proceeding to the Red Keep. He seems to be making quite the scene.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Mother?” Myrcella said suddenly, and Cersei turned her head sharply. “You, uh, might want to take a look out the window.”

Cersei sighed, and got up. What on earth could he possibly mean, _he was making quite the -_

She was completely unable to resist a grunt of frustration as she saw what both the messenger and Myrcella were talking about. 

He was making his way towards the Red Keep alright. Surrounded by a crowd of smallfolk applauding him and lining the streets as he rode down, clearly basking in the admiration and enjoying every fucking second of it. 

Cersei couldn’t make out his expression from this vantage point, but she could just _tell_ that he had the cockiest grin plastered across his face. 

“I am going to _kill him,”_ she muttered to herself.

_But I need his ships,_ she thought irritably. _The fucking Iron Fleet might be our only chance at victory in a sea battle._

“What’s going on, anyway?” Brienne said. “I mean, he can’t be attracting such a crowd just from riding to the Keep, can he?”

“I don’t know,” Cersei grimaced. “But I’ve got a horrible feeling we won’t have to wait long to find out.”

Jaime sighed. “I suppose not receiving him in the throne room is out of the question, then.”

“No.” Cersei tore her eyes away from the window and began making her way towards the door, her steps noticeably heavier than before. “I suppose not.”

As she passed her, Brienne tilted her head to mutter in Cersei’s ear. “It’s a shame you won’t have time to get changed into that lovely black dress of yours. You know, for maximum intimidation.”

Cersei thinned her lips, struggling to restrain a chuckle. “Don’t even,” she said playfully. 

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t considering it, were you?”

“...Shh.”

By the time Euron reached the entrance to the throne room, Cersei was surprised that she hadn’t ground her teeth all the way down from how hard she was gritting them in annoyance. 

Jaime and Brienne hardly looked any more impressed than she was, despite the sound of smallfolk clapping outside the doors. 

Myrcella just looked uncomfortable. She’d said she wanted to be there, even though Tommen had opted to stay in his room, but she looked like she was regretting her decision now. 

Cersei wanted to get up and tell her that she could leave if she wanted to, wrap a comforting arm around her daughter’s shoulders, but Euron was coming towards the throne steadily now, and she had to hold his gaze. She -

_Wait a second._

_No, wait a fucking second._

Three people were trailing behind him. At first, Cersei had thought they were just guards, an ostentatious entourage for him as he paraded through the city, but as they came into the light she realised that they weren’t guards at all. They were women. 

And she hardly recognised two of them, but as they walked closer and closer, the facial features of the one at the front became unmistakeable. Despite the dirt and the blood and the chains, she’d recognise those defined cheekbones and her short, curly hair anywhere. 

_Ellaria Sand?_

There was no satisfaction in that recognition, just plain, and simple confusion. Usually, she did her best to keep her expression steady and her true feelings masked, but right now all she could do was let her mouth hang open in shock. 

Euron came to a stop right in front of the dais, and flung the three women on the ground, their chains clinking as they hit the floor. 

He looked up at Cersei expectantly, his eyes glinting. 

“...What?”

“What do you mean, what?” Euron frowned. “I told you I was going to bring you a gift. And here are three.”

“...I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t understand.” She didn’t know how else to respond, was completely lost for words at this point. 

“You know Ellaria Sand.”

“Yes, I-”

Cersei’s words were cut off by the sound of Ellaria spitting at her. She grimaced as it just missed her shoe. 

She vaguely saw Jaime and Brienne share an awkward glance. Clearly, they were none the wiser to what was going on. 

“This…” Euron gestured at the girl next to Ellaria, whose hair was even more matted and dirty, and had a wild look of fury in her eyes. “This is Yara Greyjoy. My darling niece, who betrayed me for the Dragon Queen.”

“You were going to ally with her too,” Yara hissed. 

“The D-” A wave of anger crashed into her stomach as Cersei realised what he was getting at. “You mean…” She locked eyes with Ellaria, and for a moment the despicable woman _recoiled._ “ _You_ allied with Daenerys?”

She was silent. 

“That’s what you were doing?” Cersei stood up, so enflamed by her rage that she could hardly contain it. “We were worrying about you attacking my daughter’s wedding, and you were sailing to the other side of the world to align yourself with conquerors?”

“I should have killed your daughter when I had the chance,” Ellaria spat. 

Cersei shut her eyes for a moment, the fury burning inside her becoming all too much. 

“My _daughter,”_ she said, stepping off the dais and marching towards Ellaria, “has never done anything to you. She is innocent-”

“There are no innocent Lannisters,” Ellaria said. Cersei could see that same furor reflected in her beady eyes, could feel that if she weren’t bound in chains Cersei’s throat would already have been torn out. “You all deserved to pay for what happened to Oberyn. I should have poisoned her back in Dorne-”

Cersei turned over her shoulder to glance at Myrcella, who had gone as white as a sheet. Her eyes were wide, and she was glancing around her desperately, her hands clutching at nothing. 

“How dare you,” Jaime said, his teeth gritted harder than ever. “How dare you speak about my niece that w-”

“Myrcella, darling,” Cersei breathed. “Leave us, please.”

Myrcella hesitated for a moment. “Mother-”

“Please,” Cersei implored. “You don’t need to hear any more of this.”

She nodded resignedly, and Cersei’s stomach sank even further. She could just tell that her daughter was trying to be strong, to stick around and bear it, but she shouldn’t have to hear the vitriol that Ellaria was hurling at her, to know that she had at least _planned_ to kill her at some point. 

Ellaria had been Myrcella’s friend, once, and she had betrayed her. 

Perhaps, then, what Cersei meant had truly been _you don’t need to see this._ Because the second Myrcella walked out, her vision blurred once more, and every blood vessel in her body felt set alight with hatred and fury, the feeling blazing through her even more than before.

“You intended to poison my daughter?” she seethed. 

“Do you see what I’ve brought you?” Euron said. “I told you I was going to give you a gift, that no other man - or woman - could give you.” He looked pointedly at Brienne on the word _woman._ “This woman wanted to murder your daughter. Didn’t you?”

“I do not deny it,” Ellaria said. “My only regret is that I didn’t finish the job.”

Cersei shut her eyes, the sight of Ellaria at her feet almost too much to bear. 

“She’s a traitor,” Euron said. “So is my niece.” His eyes were alight too - though with satisfaction, not fury, Cersei could tell the difference - and the irritation he gave her only exacerbated her fury. “You have what you want.”

“What I want?” 

“What you _want._ Ellaria wanted to make your daughter suffer, didn’t she?” He looked down at her, and laughed. “I don’t know about you, but I think she should suffer for her crimes. And those she intended to commit - because you were going to do it, weren’t you? Take up arms with Daenerys Targaryen and go to war against Her Grace.” He laughed emptily. “What a cunt.”

As much as she hated it, every word he was saying was true. Her anger must have been visible to him - she could practically feel it rippling off her in waves, permeating the stuffy air of the throne room. 

“Do it, Cersei.” He grinned. “Take your revenge.”

_She wanted to kill my daughter. She would have seen her bleed to death right before her eyes, an innocent girl she had played mother to and pretended to care for. She wanted her to suffer for a crime she did not commit. Who’s to say that the same should not happen to her?_

She had not executed anyone as queen in her own right, not yet, not even the High Sparrow who still sat beneath the Red Keep in his miserable cell. But in that moment as the fire coursed through her, she thought nothing, nothing in this world would bring her more joy than the sight of Ellaria Sand’s blood splattered on the floor -

_“Cersei.”_

Brienne’s voice cut through her thoughts, stronger than the blade at her side and twice as sharp. 

Cersei immediately turned around, and the second she locked eyes with Brienne she felt her wrath begin to curl up and shrivel inside her. Brienne’s blue eyes were filled with concern - she could see the anger too, she realised, knew exactly what it looked like on Cersei. 

Brienne didn’t say another word. She simply shook her head once. _Don’t do it,_ Cersei could hear her saying. _It’s not worth it. It won’t change anything._

Cersei exhaled slowly, her breath catching in her lungs as it left her. 

She met Euron’s eyes again, and directed a perfectly aimed sneer at him. “Thank you for the gift. But I’m afraid I’ll have to decline.”

She turned to her guards, who were standing at the foot of the dais. “Take Ellaria and her miserable daughter - and the Greyjoy girl - to the Black Cells,” she ordered. “Keep them fed and keep them _alive.”_

Euron’s face fell, his smugness shattering on the floor. “But-”

“They could certainly divulge some useful information,” Cersei said, completely ignoring him. “And either way, political prisoners are good leverage. It would be a shame to waste such an opportunity by killing them.”

Ellaria snarled up at Cersei. “As long as I’m alive under your battlements-”

“Oh, shut up,” Cersei said. 

“The Greyjoy girl stared daggers at Euron. “One of these days,” she muttered, “I will kill you for this.”

“Oh, no you won’t,” Euron said, taking a menacing step towards her. “Because-”

“Euron, that’s quite enough,” Cersei said. 

She allowed herself a quick glance over her shoulder at Brienne, who gave her the most subtle of approving smiles. 

“So?” Euron said, at last filling the silence. 

“So what?” Cersei snapped. 

He raised his eyebrows. “Will you accept my offer?”

Cersei thinned her lips. “Having the Iron Fleet on our side could turn the outcome of this war in our favour. With Daenerys at Dragonstone as we speak, this is an opportunity we can’t afford to waste.”

She had discussed this at the Small Council meeting earlier that afternoon, reluctantly agreed to get the Iron Fleet on their side. Although she hadn’t expected that decision to be so imminent. 

Euron grinned. “And what about my side of the deal?”

“You shall have what your heart desires,” Cersei said. She allowed the tiniest hint of seduction into her voice, the same low purr she’d used on countless men when she needed to use what she’d once thought her only weapon to get what she wanted. 

She had far more powerful weapons in her arsenal, now, though, and she dropped the facade almost as quickly as she’d put it up.

“When the war is won.” 

_If you live that long,_ she thought with a smirk. _And if you don’t suffer the same tragic accident as my first husband._

“Anyway,” Cersei said. She turned to her guards at the foot of the dais. “Take them.”

They began to haul the women to their feet, seemingly taking very little care with them. 

“Get your hands off me!” Tyene cried, as one of the guards manhandled her. 

“Cersei?” Brienne’s voice was right behind her, much louder than she’d anticipated. “Do you want me to…”

Cersei’s eyes widened as she turned around. “Really?” she asked. “You-”

“It would be for the best,” Brienne said warningly, “if they were taken care of. Just as a precaution.” She peered over her shoulder at the guards. “They don’t seem to be doing that at all, so…”

Cersei nodded appreciatively. “Thank you,” she said. 

Brienne’s expression faded a little. “For a moment, I thought you were going to-”

“Me too,” Cersei said hastily. “But you’re right. It wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“I...didn’t say that.”

“Oh.”

“But it wouldn’t.”

“Exactly.” Cersei pressed a soft, fleeting kiss to her cheek, so quick no one would possibly have been able to see it. 

“I’d...better go.” Brienne’s cheeks were noticeably flushed now. 

“Of course.”

Brienne walked carefully down the dais, and immediately began scolding the guards and directed them out of the hall. 

Cersei smiled as she watched her go. _Gods, where would I be without her?_

“Cersei!” Jaime was walking hurriedly towards her, a look of nothing short of disgust on his face. “Could you just remind me where we’re placing the Lannister armies?”

He was projecting his voice out louder than usual, she noticed. 

“The Lannister armies?” She frowned. “We just-”

“Can we just look like we’re discussing something important?” Jaime pleaded, muttering in her ear. “I’ve barely been able to escape an extremely awkward conversation with Euron.”

Cersei scoffed. “What did he want?”

“Trust me,” he said. “You don’t want to know.”

**Brienne**

She had been right about the Lannister guards: they had shown a complete lack of care towards their prisoners, attempting to shove the Sand Snakes and the Greyjoy girl unceremoniously into a cell and laugh in their faces. 

Brienne had done what she could to stop them and keep their prisoners safe, but the guards had looked all too reluctant as she’d ordered them to leave them alone. Still, they’d let them go eventually, leaving them in peace even as Ellaria screamed aimlessly at them. 

It was still a rather strange feeling, she realised as she made her way towards their chambers, having power over people. Not that she didn’t like it: after so many years of feeling completely powerless, it was quite the relief. She just wasn’t completely used to it yet. 

“Lady Brienne.” 

At first, Brienne didn’t quite recognise that voice, so naively she turned around. 

The second she caught sight of the source of the voice, however, she immediately clenched her jaw in frustration. 

“Euron,” she said irritably. “I thought you were returning to the Iron Islands.”

“I am,” he said. “I’ll retrieve the rest of the Iron Fleet, rally my men, and we’ll sail to King’s Landing soon enough.”

“...Right. I, uh-”

Euron scoffed. “I have to say, I was rather disappointed when I saw you. I’d heard of you, of course, everyone in the Seven Kingdoms has, but...well, I was imagining some great lumbering beast.” He narrowed his eyes. “Though, either way, I’m not so sure what the queen sees in you.”

“Is there something you want?” Brienne hissed. “Or have you just come here to mock me?”

“I just wanted to speak with you, openly,” he said, putting his hands in his pockets. “You know, as...allies. I’m sure you understand I’ll be married to our esteemed queen in a matter of time.”

_Unlikely,_ Brienne thought mirthfully, but she kept her mouth shut. 

“I’m awfully sorry about that, Lady Brienne. I know how much she must mean to you. I can’t imagine men were...fighting over you, were they? Not looking like that.”

He chuckled to himself. “I tried asking Jaime Lannister for advice, but he was rather unhelpful. Perhaps you can be of more assistance.”

“If there’s a point to this conversation,” Brienne said, “you’d better get to it, and fast.”

He moved even closer to her. “As I’m sure you’ll agree, I want to do everything in my power to keep Her Grace...happy. And satisfied.”

_Oh, fucking hell._

“How does she like it? I mean, you’d know better than anyone else, so perhaps you can help me. Is she...demanding? As fierce in the bedroom as she is in the throne room? I’d like to know what I’m getting myself in for - but then again, considering that her own brother risked everything to be with her, I can’t imagine I’ll be disappointed.”

He didn’t care what she had to say, she knew that. Moreover, he didn’t care what Cersei liked. He was just trying to get a rise out of her. 

“Actually, I’ve always been rather curious - what’s it like being between in between two Lannisters? I would never have imagined either of them to be the type to share, but-”

“Listen,” Brienne said forcefully, and Euron looked up at her in surprise. “I’ve had far worse said to me by far better men than you. And as I understand, you are just as indebted to us as we are to you. So if I were you-”

She heard a door slam open behind her, and she jumped. 

“Is there a problem?” 

Standing in the frame of their door, a little way down the corridor, was Cersei, glaring at Euron and - 

Brienne’s breath hitched in her throat as she realised what she was wearing. She’d changed into her black leather dress, the silver metal glistening menacingly around her shoulders. 

Jaime had been right. She did look absolutely terrifying, in the best way possible. 

“No, Your Grace,” Brienne said snidely. “Lord Greyjoy was just leaving.”

“My apologies,” Cersei said. “I thought I heard some...unpleasantness. The walls of the Red Keep are thinner than you might think.”

Euron’s eyes widened. 

“I am very grateful for your help, Lord Greyjoy, but if I were you I would be careful not to overstep your position.” Cersei smirked maliciously. “I mean, you were turned away by Daenerys Targaryen before you came to me, or so I hear. You wouldn’t want to end up isolated, now, would you?”

He scoffed. “I wouldn’t say _isolated-”_

“I would,” Cersei said curtly. 

“What’s going on?” Brienne’s heart swelled once again as Jaime came into the doorway, leaning against the frame next to Cersei. “Oh.” His face contorted as he caught sight of Euron. “What do you want _now?”_

Euron sighed, seemingly defeated. “I was just asking Brienne-” 

“Hopefully not the same caliber of questions you asked me,” Jaime said. “In fact...openly speculating about the queen’s sexual relations...surely that could count as treason, don’t you think?”

“It certainly might,” Brienne said. “As would openly mocking the Hand of the Queen. If sufficient evidence came to light.”

They couldn’t convict him of anything, and they all knew that. But it was certainly rewarding to watch fear enter his stupid, smug eyes. 

“I did tell you, didn’t I?” Cersei raised her eyebrows coldly. “You will have my hand when the war is over. Until then…well, Brienne, you’ve been keeping Jaime and I waiting long enough, haven’t you, darling?”

“Sorry about that,” Brienne said. By _keeping them waiting,_ did Cersei mean...

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Jaime said pointedly. “You’re not the one who needs to be apologising.”

Brienne smiled, and glanced at Euron. “Of course not.”

She walked calmly towards their door, taking Jaime’s outstretched hand in hers. 

“Well,” Euron said. “I’d better be going, anyway. My crew will be wondering where I am.”

“You do that,” Jaime said. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever despised anyone as much as him,” Cersei muttered in Brienne’s ear. “If we didn’t need his fleet so badly…”

“Believe me,” Brienne said. “If we didn’t need his fleet so badly, I would have kicked him into the dust already.”

Jaime chuckled. “I don’t doubt that.”

If Euron heard that, he didn’t show it as he walked away from them, down the corridor. 

Suddenly, a wave of recklessness hit Brienne, and she poked her head around the doorframe.

“Euron?”

He turned his head over his shoulder. “Yes?”

“You asked what it was like, being between them.” Her throat tightened, but she tried to ignore that, maintaining the same level of cockiness he’d had. “I’ll have you know it’s absolutely phenomenal.”

She slammed the door shut in front of the three of them before he could even react. 

Cersei immediately let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “The war hasn’t even started yet and I’m already sick of that man.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “You do realise you’ll be expected to marry him.”

“Ah, yes, and things ended so well for my first husband, didn’t they?”

Brienne couldn’t help but let out a laugh. As she looked at Cersei, her gaze fell back on her dress, and her mind flooded with desire again.

“I, uh, couldn’t help but notice your change of clothes,” she said. 

Cersei smirked again. “Oh, this old thing?”

“Brienne was right,” Jaime said disparagingly. “I could tell you wanted to get changed into that the second you heard the words _Euron Greyjoy.”_

“Well,” Cersei said, “I don’t hear her complaining now.” 

Brienne scoffed. “You absolutely don’t.”

“Mm,” Cersei all but purred, looking Brienne up and down. “When I saw your reaction to it the first time, I knew I had to put it on again.”

“You should know by now that neither of you need to wear anything different to do that,” Brienne said. “You could be wearing matching potato sacks and you’d still be the most beautiful people in the world.”

Cersei was right, though: that particular dress just did something to Brienne, something she couldn’t quite put a name to. Perhaps it was the strange intimidation it emitted, which was amplified a thousand times over by the feeling of Jaime’s breath on her neck right behind her.

She hadn’t lied to Euron, not one bit, about what it was like to be between them. 

Cersei seemed to pick up on how flustered she was becoming, and she placed a soft, warm hand on her cheek. 

She stared at her for a moment, emerald eyes wide with anticipation. 

_She’s waiting for permission,_ Brienne realised, feeling rather oblivious. _They both are._

“Yes,” she breathed. “Y-”

The second _yes_ was cut off by Cersei hungrily crashing her lips into Brienne’s. Clearly, she had been waiting a long time to do this, and to be honest, so had Brienne. They deserved it, really, after a day of dealing with non-stop bullshit from all sides. 

She wondered, as Cersei’s tongue pushed gently into her mouth, if she and Jaime had actually been waiting for her, like she’d said, waiting for her to get back from her duties so that they could push her onto the bed, all three of them taking out the frustrations of the day behind them - 

She felt Jaime’s good hand clutch onto her hair and pull her into him, and she let out a gasp. 

Cersei took that opportunity to bite down on her bottom lip, one hand still gently cupping her face. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmured into Brienne’s mouth, their heads pressed together. 

Brienne tilted her head all the way to the right to allow Jaime to run his mouth along the length of her neck, sending a distinct shiver right through her entire body. Every nerve felt like it was on fire now, as she was practically devoured from both sides. 

His teeth grazed _that_ spot just a little behind her ear, and she inhaled sharply, clutching Cersei’s other hand as she threw her head back. 

“Oh, gods,” she said. She rubbed her thighs together unconsciously as more and more heat began to pool between them. She hadn’t realised how much she’d wanted this until she was thrust into the deep and, and now she needed it so desperately it almost hurt. 

“Please,” she murmured, her words almost lost in between both of their frantic kissing. “Please, I can’t, I need-”

“Use your words,” Jaime muttered. That hit Brienne unexpectedly: usually it was Cersei who liked to take control that way, while he preferred for Brienne to take the reins for him. But now he was using that same commanding tone of voice, and it pulled another ragged breath from her. “What exactly do you need, Brienne?”

His face was a hair’s breadth away from hers, now, as close as Cersei was. 

“ _Ohgodsfuckmeplease,”_ she murmured.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” Cersei said. “Speak up, darling.”

They both knew damn well what she’d said, but that wasn’t why they were asking. 

“I need you to fuck me,” Brienne said. “Please.”

She felt Jaime chuckle behind her. She didn’t see anything, was too wrapped up in both of their embraces, but she could _feel_ them making eye contact over her shoulder, constructing some silent agreement. 

Then, before she knew what was happening, they flung her down onto their mattress with a thunk. 

“Gods,” she said, her grin stretched so wide it almost hurt as the two of them stared down at her, their matching gazes searing right through her skin and igniting her veins. “Are you both really that worked up?”

“How could we not be?” Jaime chuckled. “Besides, you did such a good job today with Euron’s prisoners. You deserve a reward.”

She moved to close the gap between them, latching onto his mouth and kissing him deeply, feeling wetness pool at the meeting of her thighs. 

“Spread those pretty legs,” Cersei ordered, her voice deep and mesmerising. 

Brienne obeyed, managing to pull herself away from Jaime long enough to position herself comfortably between the two of them.

Cersei went to unhook the clasp of her dress at her neck, but Brienne put her hand over hers. 

“Leave it on,” she insisted.

Cersei raised her eyebrows, looking borderline scandalised.

“I mean it,” she said, and Cersei moved her hand away. 

“As my lady commands,” she said teasingly, slipping her citrine ring off her finger. Immediately, she began to unlace Brienne’s breeches, as Brienne squirmed under her touch. 

“Oh, _Brienne_ ,” she crooned, dipping her hand to the meeting of her thighs and running a finger slowly along her slit. “You must be positively desperate, darling.”

Slowly but surely, she pressed her index finger into Brienne’s cunt, and Brienne gripped Jaime’s hand tighter. She hadn’t even realised she’d been clutching his good hand until she dug her nails into it, and he took that opportunity to meet her mouth once again, even more forceful than before. She parted her lips, half in a moan and half to allow his tongue to slip beyond them. 

She put her hand into the back of his hair, running the dirty blonde mass between her fingers and clasping down on it as his stubble scratched its way across her chin, the feeling as intimate and electrifying as a lover scratching their nails down someone’s back. 

“That’s it,” Cersei said, curling her fingers inside Brienne, kneading circles into _that point_ within her cunt that made her stomach tighten and her whole body squirm. “You’re taking it so well, my darling, so beautifully, so _good_.”

For a few seconds, she lost herself entirely, completely engulfed by the two of them with her eyes shut in bliss. She wasn’t even coming, not quite yet, but the feeling of Jaime at her lips and Cersei at her cunt and everything else forgotten except the two of them was so exhilarating that she came out of her body for a moment, ascending to some higher level and completely unaware of her actions. 

Her hand came out of Jaime’s hair and went to his crotch, where he immediately ground up into her as she palmed him through his breeches, suddenly aware of how hard he had become.

She stroked up and down the length of him for a moment, but she came down from her high as she realised how close the three of them had become and how potentially uncomfortable this position could become. _We’re not risking this again. Not after what happened last time._

She tore herself away from Jaime’s mouth and made furtive eye contact with Cersei, who was clearly trying to lean away from him.

“Are you alright?” she asked. 

Brienne glanced at Jaime, then back at Cersei. Took stock of where they were, what was happening and where they could go from here...

“Wait,” she said suddenly, as Cersei pulled away from her. “I have an idea.”

The corner of Jaime’s mouth twitched mischievously. “An idea?”

“Yes.” She glanced between the two of them, whatever strange thought process she was having spurring her on. “Jaime, could you try sitting on the end of the bed?”

He looked a little puzzled, but nodded anyway, still panting and breathless. He shuffled down to the edge of the mattress, and she knelt at the foot of the bed. 

“Now…” She moved towards his breeches and began to unlace them, painfully aware of the tightness beneath her fingertips. He gasped as they brushed over him, seeming to catch on to what she was doing. 

“Oh, gods,” he breathed, and spread his legs, clearly making an effort not to buck his hips up and give into temptation too quickly. He’d want to take his time, she knew that. 

“What do you want me to do?” Cersei asked, her voice filled with genuine care and concern. 

“Could you carry on?” Brienne pleaded, as she finally pried Jaime’s cock free from his breeches. 

“You want me to take you from behind?” Her voice dropped back into that alluring purr of hers, and she gripped Brienne’s thigh with her right hand, stroking her fingertips over the soft skin there. “Is that it?”

“Yes.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Your Grace.”

Brienne lowered her mouth to the tip of Jaime’s cock and ran her tongue agonisingly slowly across the tip, relishing the sigh that immediately emanated from his mouth. 

“...Do you want me to fetch the toy?” 

She pulled away from his cock and turned towards Cersei, who was grinning wickedly. 

“Seven hells, Cersei. You’re an absolute menace, you know that?”

“And you love every second of it.” Chuckling to herself, Cersei made her way over to the cabinet. 

Brienne turned around to face Jaime again, whose pupils had all but engulfed the jade pools of his eyes. He was staring at her rather thoughtfully, his lips parted and flushed red with arousal. 

It was love in his eyes, she realised. Not just desire or lust, but _love._

“This is going to be a rather long night,” he said, sounding rather thrilled. “Isn’t it?” 

“I hope so.” She lowered her mouth down again. 

Surprisingly, she was the first one to blink awake the following morning, the sunlight streaming lower and lower in the window. 

She rubbed her eyes reluctantly as her head pounded, half tempted to go right back to sleep and lie there, still and peaceful, with the Lannisters a little while longer -

That wasn’t her head pounding. 

She bolted upright as she realised what that sound was. It was a knock at the door. 

_Shit, shit, shit._ Early morning knocks never ended well, and she had a feeling that this one wasn’t about to be any different. Especially not given the current situation. 

It had been too good to last, she realised with a sigh, as she regarded the still, calm forms of her sleeping lovers. They’d all known that, deep down, but hadn’t been willing to admit it to themselves - or at least not to each other. 

She managed to wriggle out of bed without disturbing either of them, and quickly pulled on the silky blue robe Jaime had bought for her a few months ago before making her way to the door. 

“Your Grace, I-” The serving girl clamped her mouth shut when she saw who had actually answered the door. “Oh. Lady Brienne.”

“What’s the matter?” Brienne said anxiously. 

The girl’s eyes were unfocused and wide, and for a fleeting, unsettling moment Brienne thought there was something behind her. She turned around, and immediately cringed. She’d left Jaime and Cersei asleep, and while they were both appropriately covered, they were still in what could be interpreted as a rather compromising position. 

“Oh. Well.” Brienne snapped her head back around and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry about that, we were just-”

“There’s news from the Westerlands, my lady.”

Brienne blinked in surprise. “The Westerlands?”

“Yes.” The girl swallowed nervously, clearly anxious to be the bringer of bad news. “We’ve received word that Daenerys Targaryen is planning an attack on Casterly Rock.”

Brienne’s heart felt like it dropped through the floor, right to the depths of the Black Cells. She gripped onto the doorframe, trying to make sense of what this girl was saying. 

“But…” She stammered a little as she put her thoughts together. “The Lannister armies - they’re making their way east. To the capital.” She looked up at the girl. “The Rock will be almost completely undefended!”

“That’s-”

“What’s going on?” 

Brienne snapped her head around again to see that Jaime was sitting upright in bed, staring straight at her, fear and panic in his eyes. 

She swallowed hard, and met his furtive gaze. “We need to gather our defenses right now.”

“What defenses? Wh - right now?”

“Yes,” Brienne said. Her mind had already thrown itself into overdrive despite its exhaustion, putting two and two together and realising exactly how fucked they would be if they didn’t sort it out immediately. “Right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback.


	33. Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne depart to Casterly Rock to face Daenerys, leaving Cersei in King's Landing.

**Cersei**

Cersei hadn’t seen such chaos in the Red Keep for a long time. 

It was mostly confined to the war council room, but she could feel it permeating beyond those chambers, filling the entire castle with the frenzied planning and shouting of her councillors. 

“Do we have any idea of how close the Targaryen fleet is to Casterly Rock?” Kevan asked, his voice raised over the panicked muttering. 

“If our spies are to be believed,” Brienne said, “we have some time. She appears to be simply planning an attack, not instigating it. But that doesn’t mean we can afford to waste that time.”

Cersei nodded. “Brienne is right. We have to act fast. The Lannister troops were set to arrive in the capital in a matter of days, and we need to redirect them.”

“We can’t afford to make this into a sea-battle,” Jaime said urgently. “We will have to lure her inland and defend from there. The Iron Fleet is divided right now between King’s Landing and Pyke, and while some may be able to make it to Casterly there is no guarantee it will be enough.  We need to work with what we have, and what we do have are the Lannister army from the Westerlands and from the Crownlands.”

He pressed his hands down on the table and sighed. “I suppose we should just be grateful we managed to catch it this early. Nevertheless, Brienne is right, we don’t have a moment to spare.” He looked up at Brienne, eyes wide with unadulterated fear. “We will have to leave immediately if we want the best chance of defending ourselves.”

There was a silent question in his gaze as he looked at her, the results of the conversation they’d had weeks ago finally coming into play.  _ Are you coming?  _

Brienne looked across the table to glance at Cersei. “I - I can stay, if you-”

“Go,” Cersei said, clutching her hands in the skirts of her dress to hide their shaking. “I - they need you out there.”

She wanted nothing more than to beg Brienne to stay, order both her and Jaime to help her navigate this mess and never leave her side. 

But she couldn’t do that, no matter how much she wanted to. She knew now that they were past the stages of planning and preparing: this was war, now, or it would be once they reached the Westerlands. 

Brienne nodded wordlessly, her eyes full of wistfulness.

Jaime turned towards one of the Queensguards waiting at the doors of the chamber. “Send word to our men that we leave at sunrise. The quicker we can mobilise, the better.” 

Cersei tried to keep her head level as the room descended into strategizing and planning, but she couldn’t escape the cold fear thrumming through her veins, consuming her from the inside out with the knowledge that this was all painfully real now. 

The war she’d been anticipating had come now, and there was no going back. 

The sky was ablaze with orange when sunrise came, the coloured light shining down upon them as they stood at the edge of the Goldroad, Cersei clutching Tommen and Myrcella’s hands in each of hers as Jaime and Brienne stood across from them, their expressions matching the fear she felt. 

The rest of the crown’s troops were still preparing behind them, gathering together supplies and weapons. They had just a little while longer to say goodbye. 

“I’m so sorry,” Brienne said solemnly, breaking the stillness that came with the dawn. “I wish we didn’t have to leave.”

“Me too,” Cersei said. “But please, Brienne, don’t feel guilty about going. You’re the best fighter I know, and our soldiers trust you. If anyone can lead our men into battle to defeat Daenerys’ forces, it’s you.”

The corners of Brienne’s mouth twitched, and she glanced downwards. “I’ll miss you.”

“Come here,” Cersei implored, and she leaned in to kiss Brienne gently on the lips. 

As their mouths met, adoration swelled inside her, and she felt her eyes sting a little.  _ Not now,  _ she thought, as Brienne placed a warm hand to her cheek.  _ These men will not see me cry now. I must be strong.  _

She broke away from the kiss, and Brienne smiled, properly this time. “Take care,” she said tenderly. 

Cersei nodded. Brienne must have been able to see the sheen of tears threatening to spill over her lashes, because she immediately lifted her hand to Cersei’s eye and brushed one away, catching it before it fell. 

“We’ll be back,” Brienne said. “I promise.”

Cersei turned around to see Jaime, wrapping Tommen in the tightest of hugs as Myrcella looked on, smiling sadly. 

“Now, you take care of your mother, the two of you,” he said, letting him go. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything...untoward.”

“I will not do anything  _ untoward,”  _ Cersei scoffed, and Tommen chuckled. “I’m not quite the liability you think I am.”

Jaime raised his eyebrows in mock accusation. “You’re sure about that?”

She laughed, and pulled him into an embrace, too. “Come here, you idiot.”

She allowed her head to settle in his shoulder as he hugged her tightly. 

“You will be alright?” he whispered to her, so quietly she barely heard it. 

“I don’t know,” she sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to be.” 

Jaime nodded stoically. 

“Will you?” she asked. 

He didn’t respond. 

In that moment, as he held her, the unspoken truth they’d tried to avoid bubbled up to the surface. There was always a chance that Brienne and Jaime wouldn’t come back from this fight unscathed.  _ Perhaps they won’t come back at all - _

She shut her eyes tightly, and swallowed hard. Worrying about that wouldn’t change anything now. 

Cersei was glad he couldn’t see her face. Hugging had a nice way of disguising that.

He pulled away before she did, and she allowed herself to step back, to become grounded in reality once more. 

“Goodbye, Brienne,” Myrcella said warmly. “I’ll miss you so much. The Red Keep simply won’t be the same without you.”

Her words were perfectly calm, but Cersei could see in her eyes that she understood the reality of the situation too. She knew there was a chance something terrible could happen. 

If Brienne picked up on that, she didn’t show it. “We’ll be back soon enough,” she said. 

She gave the briefest of glances to Cersei, but then looked back down at Myrcella and Tommen. “I promise.”

_ You can’t promise that,  _ Cersei said hollowly, not even slightly reassured. She wondered if Brienne believed it, too, or if she was trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince them. 

“We, uh…” Jaime glanced knowingly at Brienne, who immediately straightened up. 

“Right! Of course.”

For a moment, Cersei thought they were going to leave right there and then, but then Brienne pulled her satchel from over her shoulder and began rummaging through it. 

“We - ah, here it is - we have something for you,” Brienne said. “A parting gift, of sorts.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows quizzically. “...For me?”

“Yes,” Jaime said. “It was Brienne’s idea, really. We thought it was only fair, considering...well, I don’t want to give too much away.”

Brienne pulled a long, thin parcel wrapped in cloth out of her bag. “It was excellent timing, really,” she said. “They finished it just last night, apparently.”

She placed it delicately into Cersei’s outstretched arms, and the second she felt the weight of it, she knew exactly what it was. 

“You didn’t,” she breathed, as she pulled the package open. “You-”

She fell completely silent as she drew the sword out. 

It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever laid eyes on, and it glimmered beautifully in the golden sunrise. It had a golden lion pommel, just like Oathkeeper and Widow’s Wail, with glistening rubies for eyes, but the hilt had a thread of silver vines running down it, which culminated at the crossguard in the intricate lion’s-mane pattern she had on her crown. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, still running her eyes up and down it. 

“It’s not Valyrian Steel,” Jaime said. “But the blacksmith assured us it was the next best thing. Very strong and sturdy, and it doesn’t dull easily.”

“Thank you,” she said, finally willing herself to look up from it.

“We should have done this long ago,” Brienne said. “You’ve been wielding that ugly old thing from the weapons master for far too long.”

“Besides,” Jaime said, “it was only fair that you have a sword like ours.”

It was more than just a sword, Cersei realised in that moment. It was a promise, from the both of them, between the three of them. Even when they were apart, they fought together. 

“A wise man once told me,” Brienne said, with a pointed smirk at Jaime, “that all the best swords have names.”

Jaime chuckled. “A wise man, now, was it?”

“Yes,” Brienne said. “You don’t have to name yours, of course, but…”

Cersei glanced back down at her sword, examining the delicate metalwork. What  _ could  _ she name it? Sword names could be plain  _ bad  _ sometimes, from Ned Stark’s dubiously named Ice to Joff’s rather crude Hearteater. 

She didn’t quite want her sword to represent that sort of ruthlessness, nor her house loyalty. She wanted...gods, she wanted…

Oh. The ghost of a smile graced her face as the pieces fell into place.  _ Of course.  _

“Promise,” she said decisively. “That doesn’t exactly strike fear into the hearts of my enemies, but it doesn’t really need to, does it?” 

“Promise,” Brienne echoed with a gentle smile. “I like that.” 

“You want to be careful about  _ striking fear into the hearts of your enemies,”  _ Jaime said mirthfully. “Otherwise you end up with a name like Widow’s Wail. I felt like renaming it would be disrespectful to Joff’s memory, but...well.” 

He glanced back down at Cersei’s sword - at Promise. “But that’s an excellent name for a sword.”

Cersei ran her hand over the steel blade of the sword.  _ This is mine now,  _ she thought.  _ It’s not just another weapon I wield. It belongs to me.  _

“There’s a sheath in there as well,” Brienne said, “and a belt. In case you ever want to, you know, put it on.”

How would people react, she wondered, if she started walking around with a sword strapped to her side at all times? Would they think it a show of intimidation, or deride her for being too masculine - the short hair was bad enough, surely, but wielding a weapon? Then again, she doubted anything could be said about her now that she hadn’t already heard. 

Perhaps she could be a warrior queen, then: after all, wasn’t Daenerys one? Did she not lead her men into battle on the back of a dragon, queen and commander all in one? If the Dragon Queen could do that, then why couldn’t Cersei? 

She thought back to what she’d said to Sansa Stark, all those years ago: that she wished she’d been born a man, would rather face a thousand swords than be shut up inside. Perhaps one day she would do exactly that, though the idea didn’t bring her the same thrill it used to, probably because she understood exactly what was at stake now. 

But she couldn’t do that, at least not now. The future was an entirely different story, but for now she needed to stay here and protect her children and her subjects. 

“Lord Commander!”

Jaime whipped his head around, the sharpness of his movements breaking Cersei out of her thoughts. 

“We’re ready to ride west,” a lieutenant called from atop his horse. “At your command.”

“We haven’t been keeping you, have we?” Myrcella said. 

“No, no…” Jaime stared up at his second in command. “We’ll be right with you,” he called. 

He turned back around, and it was instantly clear that they had to leave. 

“Well,” Cersei said. “This is goodbye, then.”

“Good luck,” Tommen said, and Jaime smiled appreciatively. 

Cersei looked up at Brienne. A thousand words flooded towards the tip of her tongue, muddling themselves up together until she didn’t know what to say. 

“...I love you,” she finally managed to say. 

Brienne nodded solemnly. “I love you too.” 

She met eyes with Jaime, and they both nodded.  _ We should go now,  _ they must have been thinking. 

Cersei watched wistfully, knowing that if so many soldiers hadn’t been looking on they would have been clutching each other’s hands. 

Instead, she reached for Tommen and Myrcella’s hands once more, and clutched them as tight as she could. 

_ They know exactly what I fear,  _ she thought.  _ Maybe they fear it too.  _

But she didn’t want to speak it into existence as they watched Jaime and Brienne mount their horses at the front of their men. 

Neither of them turned around to look at her one last time. But neither of them needed to. 

**Jaime**

It was strange to be back on the road again with Brienne. 

That should probably have been at the back of his mind: he had an army to lead, after all, and his former home would soon be under attack. Their scouts from Casterly Rock were still assuring them that the Dragon Queen’s ships had not arrived at the shore yet and likely wouldn’t for at least a week, which gave them some time. After all, they were sailing all the way around from Dragonstone, but a week in the grand scheme of things really wasn’t that long, and he spent most of his waking hours concerned with battle strategies and planning. 

But the feeling of having Brienne at his side once again as they went across the land was so achingly familiar, and yet so different from how it had been the last time. When they’d travelled the Kingsroad together before, filled with nothing but contempt towards each other until suddenly there was something  _ more,  _ something different and incomprehensible, he never could have imagined that one day he would be riding with her at the head of the Lannister army, much less in love with her beyond all doubt.

Brienne wasn’t his official second-in-command, but it became clear among his men soon enough that that was her role, and their respect turned towards her as well as him. She was always at his side, and slowly that pulled her up the chain of command: messages were always delivered to  _ the Lord Commander and Lady Brienne,  _ and she exerted just as much authority as he did over their men. His men, technically, but everyone knew they were both of theirs. 

Preparing for battle might have been a terrifying prospect, but at least it wasn’t one he had to endure alone. 

They were nearing Casterly Rock now, resting for the night in an encampment near Silverhall. It would only be a few days’ ride before they reached Jaime’s home, and then the war would truly begin. 

He sat on their bed in his tent, looking up at the vermillion roof. He’d fought in so many battles, so what made this one any different?

Perhaps it was that he was no longer the cocky young man he had once been, so confident that he would win every fight, nothing to lose. He hadn’t fought in a proper battle since he’d lost his sword hand, his encounters in Dorne hardly comparing, but while he was still a shadow of the great swordsman he had once been, he had vastly improved. So why couldn’t he escape the pit of dread that was clawing away at him more and more as they rode towards the Rock. 

It was the dragons, he realised. The prospect of a foe that no one had faced for hundreds of years, the complete unexpected. 

No matter what he said to his men to encourage them, he knew they were at a disadvantage. They were powerful, wealthy, a force to be reckoned with: but that wasn’t enough to make them a winning side. Even the scorpion they’d brought with them made him uncertain, as the dragon Cersei had shot had been long dead and unmoving. In reality, they had absolutely no idea what they were dealing with. 

“Are you alright?” 

Brienne’s voice from the entrance to their tent startled him, and he sat upright on the uncomfortably firm bed. 

“What?” He looked up at her. “Oh, I’m....yes, I’m fine.”

She didn’t look as if she bought that for a second. “Everyone’s really feeling the weight of this. No matter what we say, they all think we’re...what was the expression I heard one of the bannermen use? Fucked beyond all hope.”

“And do you think that?”

She sighed, and sat down next to him on the bed. “I like to think I have more hope than they do. But I’m not trying to fool myself, Jaime. I mean, even Tommen and Myrcella seemed to know-” She cut her sentence off, the fear building in Jaime’s chest seemingly reflected in his expression. “I’m sorry. That can’t be helping.”

He nodded. “I suppose there’s nothing we can do about it now. We’ve made all the plans we can, the best we can do is...give it our best?” He huffed. “Gods, I’m a terrible motivational speaker.”

She placed a cold, gloved hand on his cheek, and despite the absence of warmth he leaned into it as if it was her bare skin, desperate for the comfort. 

“But at least I have you,” he said, and the corners of her mouth twitched. 

She kissed the tip of his nose, gently, and he melted inside once again. He raised his mouth up to meet hers, and held both sides of her face with his hands. He knew perfectly well that his golden hand was just metal, but he could have sworn he felt her skin as clearly as he did her soft lips. 

Eventually, they allowed each other to fall back onto the bed, and their kiss turned into an embrace, holding each other as tightly as they possibly could, his head nestled deep into her shoulder and her arm wrapped tightly over his chest. 

She smelled like dirt and sweat from their endless days on the road, but to him it was as sweet as any perfume. That idea was almost trite, he realised the second he thought it, far too romantic to be realistic, but it was true. 

Mostly because, after all, that was the kind of love he was in. The stupidly, sickeningly romantic type that they wrote songs and stories about, that no one ever thought was real until they found themselves waist-deep in it. Cersei had always pointed that out, how everyone in a five-mile radius could see them gazing longingly at each other and joked about how vomit-inducing their affection was (though, he was always quick to point out, she and Brienne were hardly any different).

The knowledge that she was the love of his life had crept up on him so slowly that he hadn’t even realised he accepted it as fact until it was well ingrained in both of their minds. Tonight was no different from any other night, except from the agonising closeness of the war to come, the knowledge that this wouldn’t last forever, that -

“Are you crying?”

“What?” He wiped his cheek and found it, strangely enough, to be wet. “Oh. I...sorry about that.”

“Hey.” She clutched him tighter, nestling her head on top of hers. “It’s alright.”

“I…” He took a deep breath. “I know this isn’t going to last forever.”

She raised her eyebrows in concern, and for a moment he regretted bringing it up at all, but he kept going. If these emotions and questions were going to flood to the tip of his tongue now, he may as well get them out. 

“And those bannermen might be right. Both of us might not make it out of this battle alive. It’s nothing we’ve ever faced before.”

“Don’t say that,” Brienne implored. “Don’t-”

“I know,” Jaime said. “My point is...oh, gods, I had a point. I love you, Brienne. I love you more than I think either of us can comprehend, and there is no one I would rather have by my side going into battle.”

She looked even more confused now. “Jaime - I love you too, but-”

“And…” He took a deep, shaky breath. “No matter what the odds are, if we both make it out of this alive, there is no doubt in my mind that I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”

The rest of his question was there, sitting in the back of his throat. He wanted to say it, wanted to ask her so, so badly, but he couldn’t get it out. 

Brienne’s bright blue eyes widened. “You don’t mean…I mean, what are you…” She shook her head, and looked him directly in the eyes. “Are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

He nodded. “Would you marry me, Brienne?”

She stared at him in disbelief for a moment, and for a second his heart withered in his chest as he feared he’d fucked it all up, gone too far too soon. He hadn’t intended to ask her tonight, not at all, but he’d meant to ask her at some point with no idea whatsoever how to go about it. 

Maybe this hadn’t been the right way. He should have made a bigger deal out of it, done something -

“Yes,” she breathed, hardly seeming aware of herself. 

Then, she laughed, her wide, bright smile completely unrestrained for the first time in days. “Oh, gods, yes, Jaime.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really! What did you expect me to do? Say no?”

“I don’t-”

She cut him off with another kiss, this one warmer and - no, not more passionate, the flickering of her soft tongue past his lips was more than just lust and desire. 

As he lost himself in her kiss, her hair, her warmth, he felt  _ complete  _ on some strange level, felt that the two of them were more than just their bodies. 

_ Again,  _ he thought.  _ This is the kind of love they write songs about.  _

“When?” she asked softly, her breath still landing on his lips after they’d broken away.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’m not sure when we’ll be able to have a ceremony - I mean, even if we make it home soon it might not be appropriate. But know this, please.” He placed his good hand on top of hers. “One day, you will be my wife.”

She smiled. “Oh, gods. I’d be  _ Brienne Lannister.” _

“You can keep the ‘of Tarth’, if you’d like,” Jaime said. “I wouldn’t want it to feel like you were marrying me for my family or title.”

“Would you like the ‘of Tarth’?” she asked. 

“Jaime of Tarth,” he said. “I could get used to it. Though I’m not quite sure how that would work.”

“I like it,” Brienne chuckled. “Oh - what about Cersei?”

He hadn’t completely considered that, at least not yet. 

“I...well. We’ll figure something out. We always do, don’t we?”

“Perhaps I could marry her too,” she said playfully. 

Jaime frowned. “A woman marry another woman? Is that allowed?”

“I don’t think so,” Brienne said. “But when has that ever stopped Cersei?”

They both chuckled at that, their foreheads pressed gently together.

“Well, then,” Brienne said. “We’d better defeat Daenerys, hadn’t we?”

“I’m sure we’ll both fight ten times harder if we know this is what we’re fighting for.”

She smiled softly. “I know we will.”

**Cersei**

Cersei watched in abject horror as Myrcella tipped her king over. “No.”

“Yes.” 

“Again?” She stared at her daughter across the cyvasse board, still in disbelief that she’d bested her thrice now. “Either you’re cheating, or I still haven’t got used to this game.”

“I promise you,” Myrcella, her grin wide and sunny as ever, “I’m not cheating. And you’re good at this game, really! It’s just I’m…”

“Better?” Cersei offered. 

Myrcella shrugged modestly. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” Cersei said. 

“I did beat Prince Doran once. You should have seen Ellaria’s face.”

“I almost beat you just now,” Tommen protested, and Myrcella rolled her eyes playfully. 

“ _ Almost  _ is the key word there,” she said. “But you’re welcome to try again, if you’d like.”

“Oh, go on then,” Tommen said, and Myrcella immediately started resetting the board. 

It was rare these days that Cersei got to spend time with her children uninterrupted. It didn’t have the same thoughtless tranquility that it had all those years ago, before Myrcella was sent to Dorne and Tommen became king, but she supposed it was pointless to chase after that. Besides, despite the emptiness caused by Jaime and Brienne’s absence, it was clear that having some time together was doing all of them some good - 

There was a knock at the door, and Cersei immediately jumped. 

“I’ll get it,” Myrcella said, leaping out of her chair. “It might be Trystane, he said he might come by later for a game if his meeting with the Dornish captain ended early-”

Her excitable sentence fell flat as she opened the door. 

“Is Her Grace here, Princess?” Cersei heard a gruff voice say. 

“She-” Myrcella turned behind her. “Mother?”

Of course it had been too good to last, Cersei thought grimly as she got up, smoothing down the emerald silk of her dress. It always was. 

“Is there a problem?” she said curtly as she reached the door. 

Her guard paled. “There’s a visitor for you at the docks.”

She raised her eyebrows, trying to hide the fear that hit her with those words. “And who might this visitor be, do you know?” 

“I - I’m afraid I don’t know, Your Grace.”

She sighed. “Very well.” 

“Do you want us to come with you?” Myrcella asked.

“No,” she said, a little too forcefully. “You and Tommen stay here. Hopefully, I will return shortly.”

“Do you wish for me to accompany you, Your Grace?” her guard asked shakily. 

She instinctively went to say  _ no, leave me be,  _ but the back of her mind buzzed at the idea of being unprotected. “Yes,” she said. 

After all, she wasn’t expecting a visitor. 

“...Actually,” she said vaguely, and ducked back into her chambers. 

Tommen looked at her with confusion as she glanced around the room. “Are you looking for something?”

“My...ah.” She walked towards the cabinet as she saw the long package placed atop it. “Here it is.”

“You’re taking your sword with you?” he asked, before sitting upright, concerned. “You don’t think-”

“I’m not sure,” she said, fastening the belt around her waist, “but I feel as if I can’t be too careful right now.”

She brought her hands away from the belt as she marvelled at the feeling of her own sword at her side. Her Promise. 

It felt far more comfortable than her clunky old blade had. 

“Anyway,” she said, drawing her attention away from the weapon. “Like I said, I should be back shortly.”

She began to walk out of the room, but then turned around at the last moment. 

“Oh, and good luck.”

“At what?” 

“Beating Myrcella, of course.”

He smiled playfully. “I’ll do my best.”

There was no chaos as they approached the docks save for the thrashing winds, no hectic panicking which would suggest an enemy was in their presence, which gave Cersei the slightest glimmer of hope that they weren’t under attack. 

“Just to clarify,” she said to her guard as they hurried down, “when you were told to give this message to me, there was no mention of the identity of this visitor?”

He shook his head. 

“Of course not,” she muttered bitterly. “There never is.”

_ If it’s fucking Euron again,  _ she thought,  _ I will slice his head off right here, out in the open.  _

As they walked down into the harbour, she noticed an unfamiliar ship bobbing just past the jagged rocks that hadn’t been there the day before. 

Her stomach curdled with fear: what if this was a trap? Gods, she’d been so foolish to let her guard down enough to come down here, surely this had to be an attack in the guise of a visit -

But then the wind that had been whistling through the harbour died down a little, and she caught sight of the sail on the ship 

She would recognise that sun-moon pattern, those blue and pink checks anywhere. 

“Your Grace.”

She turned her head to her right to see a man walking towards her, his footsteps heavy on the sun-washed stone of the pier. 

Cersei had never seen him before, but she instantly knew who he was. The blonde in his hair might have been fading into grey, but he had unmistakable blue eyes,  _ sapphire blue,  _ the calibre of which she’d stared into a thousand times but had only seen on one other person. 

He bowed. She got the immediate sense that it was out of courtesy rather than any respect. 

“My name is Lord Selwyn Tarth, Your Grace.”

_ I know,  _ she thought, but she bit her tongue. “...What are you doing here, Lord Selwyn?”

He looked up at her, visibly confused. “Forgive me, Your Grace, but I have come to speak with my daughter, Lady Brienne, regarding arrangements for the Tarth troops to be allocated in King’s Landing.” His gaze told her she should know what he was talking about, which she didn’t. 

Well, Brienne had mentioned bringing some Tarth men across the sea to fight for them, but there had been no discussion of her father actually visiting. Especially not when she was away. 

Cersei swallowed, the sheer awkwardness of the conversation far worse than any surprise attack could have been, surely. “Brienne is away at the moment.”

“Oh.” He frowned. “I was under the impression that Brienne would be here.”

He looked like a kindly man, but there was an apprehension in his eyes that Cersei couldn’t help but think was aimed at her. Not that she was surprised, after all - 

Oh, gods. He must have known about their relationship. She cringed at that realisation, because it would have been foolish to turn him away given that they  _ needed  _ the Tarth men, and that meant that she was going to have to properly talk to him instead of just exchanging niceties by the waterfront. 

“I’m sorry,” she said. “She never mentioned that you were coming.”

“I’m afraid it was all rather rushed,” he said. “I can only apologise for that.”

“Well,” she said, brushing off her embarrassment and replacing it with her best impression of a gracious smile, “I am grateful that you’ve travelled all this way, and for your help.”

She  _ laughed.  _ She had no idea where that came from, and kicked herself inwardly. 

He looked at her, puzzled.  _ The queen is truly as mad as they say,  _ he must have been thinking. 

_ Oh, gods, I really don’t want to speculate about what he’s thinking. _

“Anyway,” she said, feeling as stupid as if she were a young girl meeting her lover’s parents for the first time: which is exactly what she was, she supposed, save the  _ young  _ part. “Welcome to King’s Landing, Lord Selwyn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts or feedback.


	34. The Line Of Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei is left alone in King's Landing to deal with Selwyn Tarth, while Brienne and Jaime face their fears on the battlefield.

**Jaime**

Jaime had been a Lannister all his life, but for the first time he was beginning to feel sick of the sight of red and gold. 

Then again, being this close to Casterly Rock, the lion banners stretched out in front of them as far as the eye could see, he had a distinct sense of nostalgia around the dread. They were camped out a few miles from the bridge connecting the Rock to the rest of the Westerlands, and the sea smelled exactly as it had when he was fifteen: fresh and clean, salty but without the distinct fishy pang of Blackwater Bay. Even the feeling of being elevated so far up took him back to his childhood, the sun seeming almost closer than the glimmering sea. 

No wonder the Lannisters thought themselves so superior to everyone else, given they’d built their castle on such sweeping cliffs. From where they were, he could just about see the gleaming white turrets of Casterly, the windows of his old rooms. 

“Is it strange?” Brienne asked. “Being back here?” 

He chuckled. “The last time I came here was after Ned Stark and I fought on the streets of King’s Landing. That feels like so long ago, now, doesn’t it? I didn’t even know you then.” 

How strange that felt to think about, he thought. A life without Brienne, where he’d thought Cersei was the love of his life and was willing to do whatever it took to get back to her, to protect their relationship. He almost felt like a completely different person, now: what would that man from all those years ago, with two hands and an ego the size of a kingdom, think of who he was now? 

“It’s beautiful,” Brienne said. “Really. Much more than Evenfall.”

“I just wish we could have been here under different circumstances,” Jaime said wistfully. “I don’t know if Cersei - or any of us, for that matter - would have had the time, but we wanted to take you here one day. Tommen and Myrcella, too. Show you the beaches, the rocks, Lannisport.” He sucked a breath in. “Though I’m not sure what Gerion would think about all that.”

“I thought your Uncle Kevan was Lord of Casterly Rock?” 

“Officially, yes, but while he’s on the Small Council Gerion is taking care of it for him.” He squinted up at one of the windows, thinking for a second he saw someone move.  _ Maybe that’s him. I wonder if he can see us from up there.  _ “Though it’s not as if Uncle Gerion would be any more...welcoming.” 

He sucked a breath in, realising that probably wouldn’t be possible for a long time. If it ever would be again: none of them knew what would happen in these next few days. 

Their scouts said that the Targaryen ships weren’t far away now, having sailed up the Sunset Sea into Westerlands territory and inching ever closer. Jaime would hardly say they had found themselves pressed for time, as they’d made their plans on the Goldroad: after all, no one was more familiar with the terrain than he was. Now all they had to do was wait for them to arrive, and defend the Rock. The ships would have to land in Lannisport, and their armies would move inwards from there, and half of the army was stationed there while Jaime and Brienne lead the defense of the castle itself. 

The scouts had also said that they had seen one of Daenerys’ dragons: a great beast which cast such a shadow one of them had thought an eclipse had come, its leathery wings beating the sky into a bloody pulp as it surveyed the sea beneath it. 

At first Jaime had thought the scout was being melodramatic, but he had no doubt that when he actually saw the creature he would have a similar reaction. 

“One day we’ll come back here,” Brienne said decisively. “All of us, together.”

Jaime couldn’t help the grin that broke out on his face, staring up at Brienne as his entire body flooded with warm, comforting affection. “We will.” 

Brienne’s hand twitched once, a silent signal that told him if they hadn’t been out in the open right then she would have reached out and clasped his good hand. 

Standing there looking out over the rest of their men, idly making preparations for the days to come, they couldn’t help but feel constrained. Although most of the men knew what he and Brienne were to each other, exchanged knowing looks whenever they showed a little too much affection and were more than willing to give them their privacy, they both still felt rather uncomfortable being the Jaime and Brienne who were madly in love and soon to be married, rather than the Lord Commander and Lady Brienne who were simply there to lead their men to victory, nothing more. 

“Gods, it’s getting frustrating,” Jaime said. “All this waiting around. I almost wish Daenerys would just show up and get it over with...”

He trailed off as he noticed Brienne’s eyes narrowing. She put her hand over her brow, blocking out the sunlight as she peered up at Casterly Rock. 

“There’s someone at the window there,” she said. “Look.”

She pointed up, and Jaime followed her gaze to where he’d been looking earlier. 

“Oh, I saw them before,” he said. “I thought maybe it was Uncle Gerion, but it probably isn’t - maybe it’s one of his servants, I know he likes to keep a clean-”

The silhouette of the figure collapsed. 

Jaime stared incredulously at the window where the man had been, trying to figure out if he’d simply ducked down or walked away or perhaps been little more than a figment of Jaime’s imagination the whole time. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Brienne step forwards. “Did you-”

“See that?” Jaime met her eyes, and immediately felt the panic that was flooding through him in her gaze, too. “I did. I thought-”

“That you’d imagined it.”

“Yes.”

“Me too.”

There was a flicker at another window, and they both snapped their heads towards the highest turret. 

“...Do you have any idea what’s going on?” Brienne asked. 

Jaime suddenly felt as if a ghost had run its finger slowly down his spine. “Brienne?”

“Yes?” 

“It’s gone very quiet all of a sudden.” 

Immediately, Brienne turned around to scope out their would-be battlefields, the large expanse of muddy green they expected to meet Daenerys on if the Lannisport vanguard failed. 

“I don’t know what I expected,” she said, as Jaime too looked over his shoulder to see absolutely nothing. Even their men were carrying on as normal, the sudden stillness Jaime had felt seeming to be another figment of his imagination. 

Perhaps he  _ was  _ seeing things, he thought. The fear of the war to come was making him delusional. 

“Lord Commander!”

For what felt like the hundredth time in the last few minutes, Jaime whipped his head around, to see a man pushing through the mass of Lannister men, his eyes fixed on Jaime and Brienne as he struggled to make it through the crowd. As he neared them, Jaime recognised him as one of their scouts they’d placed upon the clifftop, watching out for Daenerys’ ships. He wasn’t due to report back for another hour, which made the chill running through Jaime’s blood grow even colder. 

“Lord Commander! They - she…” He cried out breathlessly as he almost collapsed at their feet, clutching his sides in a manner that would be almost comical were it not for the deathly expression on his face. 

“Have the ships arrived at Lannisport?” Brienne asked. “I thought we would receive word-”

“Not Lannisport,” he panted. “Here. They…”

He gestured up at the castle, his arm quivering uncontrollably. 

“The Unsullied...I didn’t realise they were there until it was too late. I...we thought they’d be coming from the other direction, the castle shouldn’t have been penetrable but they-”

“You mean…”

“They’ve taken Casterly Rock.”

Without question, Brienne sprang into action. She marched towards the regiments of men before them, their troops instantly recognising the urgency in her stride and standing to attention. 

Jaime, on the other hand, felt as if he might keel over right there. A hundred panicked thoughts immediately raced through his brain as she called their men to action:  _ they shouldn’t have been able to get in we didn’t have the defenses we didn’t think we’d need the defenses they’ve taken Casterly Rock they have a dragon and more men than us and they’ve taken Casterly Rock, they’re in there right now, they - _

“How did they get in?” Jaime muttered frantically to the scout. “We had men patrolling every entrance to the castle, how-”

“I wish I could tell you.” The scout still looked how Jaime felt, which Jaime feared was exactly how he looked, too. “One moment they were there, the next they weren’t.”

“But that’s impossible. Unless they were all turncloaks, but even then-”

He stopped in his tracks as Brienne’s commanding tone washed over him, a terrible thought suddenly hitting him out of nowhere. 

_ But there is a way to get into Casterly Rock without using any of the entrances. The tunnels, in the cliffs, beneath the rocks.  _ But that was impossible, the sewers were infinitely complex and no one knew how to navigate them... _ no one, that was, except for - but that can’t be -  _

Jaime looked back up at the Rock. He could hear a great cacophony of footsteps, and the second his blood had frozen over at the sound of them he saw men pouring out onto the bridge, men in shining metal armour wielding spears and crying out. 

Brienne clambered onto her horse, and thousands of men did the same. The red and gold spectacle filled the fields of the Westerlands in all its glory, although it didn’t seem quite so splendid as it did ominous and fearful. 

“Jaime, mount!” she yelled. “We don’t have much time.”

“Right, right.” He scrambled for Glory, and jumped up onto her, barely remembering in his panic how to mount a horse properly. 

The Unsullied soldiers were still miles away, but marching ever closer down the hillside towards the flat terrain where the Lannister armies sat waiting, and the battle plans they’d made didn’t  _ quite  _ fit this new direction but they would just have to do, Jaime thought as he rode to Brienne’s side - 

If his blood was already frozen over, the ice shattered into a thousand pieces as a rumbling sound came from behind the cliffs. 

No, it wasn’t a sound, not like the roaring of the ocean. It was...it was a  _ feeling,  _ one that resonated in Jaime’s stomach and spread throughout his whole body, setting him on edge. The very earth beneath Glory’s hooves seemed to shake, quivering in fear as much as he was.

“Jaime,” Brienne said hoarsely. “What’s…”

She was silenced by the flap of leathery wings, a great monstrous mass rearing its head over the top of Casterly Rock and unleashing an almighty roar. 

It would seem they had been tricked, and lead right into the jaws of the dragon. 

**Cersei**

Cersei had endured a great deal of awkward dinners in her life. She had gritted her teeth and put up with Margaery Tyrell’s endless simperings, Catelyn Stark’s thinly veiled contempt, Oberyn Martell’s inappropriate cockiness, and scores and scores of one sycophant after another that had made her question many a time if attaining such power was worth it for having to sit through those occasions. 

But sitting at the table in her chambers, sitting opposite Selwyn Tarth as they both picked at their food in silence, had to take the prize for the most insufferable meal she had ever sat through. 

It had only felt appropriate to invite him to dine with them - after all, he was still a visiting lord and she had to play the gracious host, even as queen in her own right. Perhaps if it had been anyone else she would have been much more hostile towards them, but this was Brienne’s  _ father.  _ No matter the grudges Brienne might have harboured towards Selwyn, Cersei couldn’t imagine her turning him away. 

_ At least try to be nice to him,  _ she imagined Brienne saying, and for a moment she felt a distinct pang of loneliness.  _ We won’t get anywhere without being civil.  _

“So,” Selwyn said stiffly. “It would be appropriate for us to get down to business.”

“That would be appropriate, yes.” She resisted the urge to reach for her wine glass. “How many men does Tarth have?” 

“Three thousand,” Selwyn said. “Hardly an impressive number to a Lannister, I’m aware, but House Tarth is proud of what we have.”

“I know,” Cersei said. “But any number of men, no matter how small, will help us to defeat this would-be conqueror-”

“Would you say you’re outnumbered?” 

She narrowed her eyes as she set her fork down. “I never said anything about being outnumbered.”

“But you know how many men the Dragon Queen has.”

“Lord Selwyn.” She did her best to keep her tone level as she clenched her hands in her lap. “Would you be willing to lend Tarth troops to the crown to defend the Seven Kingdoms from the greatest threat we have known in three hundred years, or not?”

He slammed his fork down on the table with an almighty clang, which startled Cersei more than a little. “You’ll have your men.”

“What?”

Selwyn gritted his teeth. “Two thousand. We still need to defend ourselves, but I understand the gravity of the situation.” 

“There’s no need to be rude about it,” she said, finally giving in and bringing her wine to her lips. “I know you might be reluctant, but a little bit of respect wouldn’t go awry.”

She should have seen this coming, she supposed. Selwyn had hardly spoken to her since arriving, retiring to the chambers she’d hastily allocated him with a brief promise of speaking more tomorrow. 

Apparently, she’d been foolish to think that  _ speaking  _ would be civil. 

“Lord Selwyn,” she said, as he remained painfully quiet. “If there’s a problem-”

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I last saw my daughter?”

Cersei exhaled slowly, trying to quench the irritation building inside her. “I’m sorry Brienne couldn’t be here. But might I remind you that I had no idea-”

“It’s been years.”

“Would you stop interrupting me?” 

“I don’t think I will,” Selwyn seethed. “I haven’t seen Brienne since she left to join Renly Baratheon’s army years ago.” His eyes flickered up and down, and Cersei couldn’t help but feel attacked. “Although I see her loyalties have changed a great deal since then.”

What was he trying to say? “Yes, they have. In fact, I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but Brienne is the  _ Hand of the Queen.  _ Ostensibly, she’s the second most powerful person in the Seven Kingdoms. If I were her father, I would be immensely proud of her.”

“Yes,” he said bitterly. “I am aware of just how  _ close  _ you and Brienne are.”

_ Oh, don’t you fucking dare. _

“In fact,” he said, “I don’t believe there is a person in the Seven Kingdoms who doesn’t know what my daughter has become.” 

“Become?” she spat. “ _ Become?”  _ She set her wine glass down on the table, some of the liquid sloshing over and running down her hand. “Brienne hasn’t become anything. You said yourself you’re aware of just how close we are. I don’t know what you imagine Jaime and I have done to her-”

“Ah, yes,” he said, looking almost satisfied. “Jaime and I.”

“Don’t,” she muttered, not meaning to say the words aloud. 

“You don’t even deny it any more, do you?” You and your brother, the disgusting, degenerate things you do - and to think you’ve dragged Brienne right into the midst of it.”

“We both love Brienne very dearly.” She gripped the edge of the table with both hands, resisting the urge to rise in her seat and roar her words in his face, but somehow managing to wrangle her fury into place. “She is very happy, and I’m sure if she were here she would tell you that herself. Now, if we could discuss-” 

“You,  _ Your Grace, _ do not get to speak for her.” He was getting louder, now, all pretense of civility clearly gone out the window. “The arrangement you have dragged her into is reprehensible-”

“And how is that worse than what you wanted for her?” She tilted her head, hoping that the anger burning behind her eyes was being transmitted in her gaze. “If I remember correctly, you paraded her like a horse for sale when she was little more than a child and humiliated her in front of countless high lords.”

He looked taken aback for a moment, recoiling in his chair.  _ Good,  _ she thought.  _ Let him feel ashamed. _

“Brienne does tell me things, you know. Do you have any idea how much that hurt her? How that’s stuck with her, even after all these years? The shame, the guilt, it broke her poor little heart. And you did nothing to stop the cruel things people said to her.”

“You know nothing of the things people say of her. Do you think I enjoy my daughter being the subject of crude rumours throughout the Seven Kingdoms?” he seethed. “If it wasn’t bad enough that she couldn’t just be a lady-”

“Be a lady?” 

“Would you like to hear a few of the things I’ve heard people say about my daughter?” Cersei had the feeling that was a rhetorical question. “They think I don’t hear them talking about her, but I do, and oh the things I have heard. I heard a man in a tavern call her  _ the Lannister’s giant whore.  _ They say you, her and the Kingslayer do nothing but parade your filth in the corridors of the Keep, that you fucked her in the throne room in broad daylight and made all your guards watch.” He looked at Cersei as if he expected her to apologise. 

_ We kissed  _ once  _ in the throne room and hardly anyone noticed, you pathetic man,  _ she thought.  _ And she is not my whore, she is my...she is the love of my fucking life.  _ But Selwyn clearly wouldn’t believe that, would he? He didn’t give two shits about what she had to say for herself. 

“Brienne doesn’t care what people say about us,” she said instead, keeping her voice level as his rose. “Neither do I. Only fools would pay any attention to the mindless chatter of those with nothing better to do.”

“Is it not better to be a fool than a degenerate?”

She clenched her eyes shut in plain fury, digging her nails into her palms as she tried to hold herself back from reaching across the table and choking the life from him. “I could have your head for that remark-”

“You could, but I doubt Brienne would like that, would she? If she came home and you’d executed her father. That wouldn’t bode well for your...whatever it is.”

Oh, he was a  _ cunt.  _ She almost felt guilty for thinking that - he was, after all, Brienne’s father - but fuck that, that meant nothing. Cersei had wondered why he was being so overconfident in the way he spoke to her, but she realised now he thought himself invincible. 

“Did you really come all the way to King’s Landing for  _ this?”  _ Cersei all but spat. “You sailed over here to...to what, to mock me, just because you think you can? Make me feel a fool in my own home? Because let me tell you,  _ Lord Selwyn,  _ I have heard every word of what you say a thousand times over and so has Brienne, and if you think-”

“I came here to speak to my daughter about the aid she requested of me.”

“And instead you chose to disrespect her in her own home. What do you want - do you want me to give her back?” She laughed hollowly. “Because if she wanted to go home to Tarth, to  _ you,  _ I’m sure she would have done already. She is not a child, and if you think she owes you anything simply because you are her father then you are sorely mistaken.” 

He stared at Cersei for a moment, gripping the edge of the table just as hard as she was. Then, his blue eyes flickered down to the tablecloth, eyeing it with such intensity she was sure it would spontaneously combust. 

“You’re right,” he said decisively. “Brienne does not owe me anything.” 

He stood up, the legs of the chair grating on the ground. “And I do not owe you anything because you are my queen.”

“What-” Cersei shot up, glaring at him as he stormed towards the door. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to Tarth.” He didn’t turn to look at her. 

“You’re just going to leave?” she said. She clamped down on the inside of her cheek - he was right, she couldn’t do anything about his actions and he knew it. “You would deny your country the help it needs because of a petty grudge?”

He stared at her then, his blue eyes cutting through her far more than they should have. The familiarity of his gaze stung, because it was Brienne, it was her, but it  _ wasn’t,  _ and...oh, gods, what was she going to tell her when she came back.  _ If she came back?  _

She dug her hands into the sides of her dress again, wringing her tension out into the soft fabric. 

“No,” Selwyn all but muttered. “I wouldn’t. But I do not intend to stay here a moment longer and keep up pretenses.”

Cersei tried not to let her relief show. She wouldn’t give him any sign of her gratitude: after all, he had shown none to her. 

“Good,” was all she said, struggling to maintain a steady expression. “Now get out.”

She had once shouted at Tyrion here in her chambers, she remembered, commanding him to leave and possibly knocking over a glass or two in the process. She would not give Selwyn the satisfaction of such theatrics, of everything he feared her to be. 

One of her guards poked his head around the door. “Your Grace, would you-”

“It’s quite alright,” she said, putting on her best composed smile. “Lord Selwyn was just leaving.”

She gave him a pointed look that she hoped conveyed the sentiment  _ are you going to leave now, or will I need to have my guards escort you out? Or worse?  _

He seemed to get the message, as he nodded curtly and walked out of the door, shoving past the guard who still looked rather taken aback. 

“Would you like me to-” the guard started, but she cut him off. 

“Leave him,” she said, slumping back down in her chair. “He can make his own way to the harbour. I’m sure he won’t want to be here a second longer.” 

She immediately reached for her wine again, gulping it down but finding it did nothing to dull her troubled state of mind. The sheer feeling of  _ failure  _ was unshakeable, that even though she had gained two thousand more men for the war to come she had alienated her own lover’s father. 

_ It wasn’t my fault,  _ she thought.  _ He is the one who disrespected me.  _

She raised her eyes to the window, to the glimmering sea beyond it. Jaime and Brienne would be by a different sea now, preparing for a fight, with no idea what they would have to face. 

Cersei had long ago given up on the Faith - they had never been particularly kind to her - but as she stared into the blood-red contents of her glass, she muttered a silent prayer for them to be alright. For them to make it back alive, and in one piece, and  _ soon.  _

**Brienne**

Brienne almost lurched sideways to fall off her horse as the great beast crested the jagged cliffs of the Rock. 

She should have been yelling commands again, urging the thousands of men counting on her to get in formation and prepare to attack, doing her  _ job,  _ but she was frozen in place as her stomach plummeted right through the shaking earth. 

“Get back!” Jaime called out, and the chaotic sounds of the thousands of men before her came back into focus. 

They were too far forwards. They had anticipated fighting off the army from the other direction, and while they’d been aware that the dragons - dragons plural, Brienne reminded herself, Daenerys had three - could attack from the sea, they had honestly thought the Unsullied would have no way to make it into Casterly Rock.  _ How had they made it into the Rock?  _

Gritting her teeth, she pulled her horse around and frantically rode back, Jaime coming to her side as they retreated. 

“We can only hold them off for so long,” he said. “Do you think we can take them?”

“The Unsullied?” she said, her voice breathy and panicked. “Perhaps. The dragon-”

A bright light manifested in the corner of her vision, and she and Jaime both turned around shakily. 

The ground between them and the advancing Unsullied army was scorched. Not just the ground - some of the infantry had been caught in the dragonfire as well, burned to death, black marks and phantom screams where they had stood. 

“Get back to King’s Landing!” someone shouted. “Lord Commander-”

“We’re not leaving,” Jaime began, but then the dragon unleashed another blast of fire and they lost fifty or so more men. 

_ We’re like fish in a barrel,  _ Brienne thought.  _ This won’t even be a battle. This is a massacre.  _

“Archers!” a lieutenant yelled, and a flurry of arrows soared into the sky, but barely any hit the great monster, and those that did just bounced off. 

The cries of the Unsullied were even clearer now, and they were barrelling down the grassy hill towards their first line of infantry men. As the smoke plumed up and filled the air with its putrid smell, and the sound of clanging swords began to permeate it too, the dragon twisted and dodged a flaming arrow, and for a moment Brienne caught sight of its rider. 

_ This is her,  _ she realised as she saw the pale white hair of the girl and the expression of abject fury.  _ This is Daenerys Targaryen.  _

“Hold the line!” she shouted, her voice beginning to hurt. “Hold the-”

Another line of blazing heat, and a stretch of the Goldroad was scorched - men, supplies, weapons, wagons, all turned to ash. 

She wasn’t just burning them at random, Brienne realised. She was smart. She knew where it would hit them the hardest. 

“The scorpion,” Jaime breathed. “Brienne, the scorpion!”

“Where is it?” 

“On the right flank, to the side. I can’t shoot it with one hand.” 

She stared at him for a moment, the chaos surrounding them barely visible. 

“Go!” he cried. “Go!”

Pulling herself together, she turned around and began to gallop towards the weapon, the thundering of Honor’s hooves only adding to the cacophony of screams and hissing. 

_ I will not look behind me,  _ she willed herself as the scorpion grew closer and closer.  _ I will not - _

An Unsullied soldier on horseback swung at her from her left. She met his sword with hers with a deafening clang, and with an almighty grunt pushed him back and sliced him in two. 

His blood spattered across her face, only adding to the sweat and dirt and ash. How quickly the peaceful green fields had turned into a hellscape, she thought, as she rode past burning wheels and fallen men. Even the cliffs of Casterly were shrouded by smoke - 

She glanced up for a moment, something catching her eye.

_ No, it couldn’t be. The smoke is getting to my head, and I’m seeing things. I have to keep going -  _

But no, it was unmistakable. Because as the smoke cleared for a second, she could see the distinct figure of a man standing on the bridge, watching the carnage - no, not a man, he was too short, but he wasn’t a child, after all, what would a child be doing at this battle? 

A thought began to form in her head as her blood went cold despite the scorching heat around her.  _ How many men do I know who are...but no, it can’t be - _

Another soldier hit her full force, and she tumbled off her horse. 

Fortunately, she managed to hold on to Oathkeeper, but doing so meant she took the full force of the fall on the left side of her body, and the air left her lungs as she hit the hot earth. 

Gasping and panting, she yanked herself to her feet, adrenaline pushing her forwards. The scorpion wasn’t far off now, and she was sure she had a bruised rib and a gash on her face, but she blocked out the pain as she ran, gritting her teeth as she fended off countless Unsullied soldiers and burning, screaming men. 

Gods, the screaming. She had never heard anything like it. 

The dragon cast its mighty shadow over her once again and let out another roar - not that it made much of a shadow on the ground now, though, considering how black and sooted the sky had become. 

Jaime was somewhere back there, she thought again, somewhere in that burning hellish landscape. She had no idea if he -

_ I can’t afford to think that right now,  _ she urged herself as she cut another Unsullied soldier down.  _ Forwards, Brienne. There isn’t far to go.  _

She dove past a burning cart, scrambled through a pile of fallen Lannister men - and there it was, the great wagon containing the scorpion, standing tall among the chaos. 

Her hands shook as she climbed in, praying that none of the Unsullied had seen her. They seemed mostly preoccupied with the cavalry on the other flank - which was where Jaime was, she realised - but she was here now, and she had the power to end all this. 

She pulled a lever, and the wooden walls fell away, revealing the weapon to the battlefield. Brienne faintly recalled how to manoeuvre it - first the wheels, then the crank, then you take aim, she repeated to herself over and over as she turned the great arrow towards the sky. 

But she couldn’t see the dragon anymore, not through the thick clouds of ash. She glanced from side to side, hoping she would catch sight of it, but no, it was gone. 

“Fuck!” She didn’t even bother muttering to herself anymore. “Fuck. Where are you…”

Suddenly, the faint silhouette came into her vision, and she immediately fired, panicking. But she had been too hasty, and the bolt went off into their air aimlessly. 

Still, Daenerys didn’t seem to notice. She kept going towards the right flank, her monster’s wings beating the ash and soot up around the air into a frenzy as they neared her. 

“Come a little closer,” Brienne said as she pulled the lever to reload and aimed the bolt up again. “Come on…”

Not wanting to waste another second, she fired again. It whistled through the air, and she muttered to herself  _ please, please, please, let this work, take her down -  _

She all but cried out in relief as it hit the dragon in its side and the beast let out a strangled cry as it began to plummet. It flapped its wings furiously, trying to stay in the air as it twisted and screamed. 

Before Brienne could fire again and kill the dragon for good, however, Daenerys seemed to understand that keeping it in the air much longer would likely be just as fatal as another hit. She began to sail downwards, letting out one last gust of fire and scorching the earth before aiming to land. 

It wasn’t dead, but it was out of the sky, and if it couldn’t fly…

In her fleeting moment of relief, she glanced back up at the bridge. That man was still standing there, and her relief faded instantly as she saw that her suspicions that she hadn’t even had time to fully form were true. 

But how in all seven hells could  _ Tyrion Lannister  _ be there? 

She kept looking up at him - and realised, with a jolt, that he was looking down at her, too. 

The dragon hit the ground, and the wagon rattled with the impact. Brienne jumped out, hitting the ground solidly and beginning to run back to the centre of the fighting. 

She glanced over her shoulder, and saw that the beast had come down right next to the cliff.  _ If only it would tumble over into the sea,  _ she thought, but it was balanced enough to stay upright for now. 

Daenerys dismounted and came down beside the wounded creature. Brienne felt a pang of guilt for a moment: Daenerys might have just torched hundreds if not thousands of her men and tried to kill her a hundred times over, but the pained look on her face at seeing her dragon hurt stirred more sympathy in Brienne than she’d anticipated. 

_ She would have done the same to you a thousand times over and felt nothing. Pull yourself together.  _

Daenerys tried to pull the bolt out of the dragon, but it was clear she was too weak. It probably wouldn’t die: upon further inspection Brienne seemed to have lodged it into its side, not hitting its heart or wing, but it would need time to heal. 

_ Shit. Tyrion.  _

She looked back up at the bridge. Somehow, he was still there.

But he wasn’t looking at her any more. His gaze was fixed just a little to her right, following something with his head. 

She whipped her head to see what he was looking at, and instantly caught sight of a streak of white racing against the backdrop of the flames, speeding towards Daenerys Targaryen with an extended spear. 

Brienne knew Glory wasn’t the only white horse on the battlefield. But he was the only one with an owner brave - no,  _ stupid _ enough to try something like that. 

“Jaime!” she shouted. Immediately, her feet sprang back into action, and she jumped off the wagon and onto the scorched, cracked earth. “Jaime, stop!”

He couldn’t hear her.

Once again she found herself sprinting, exhausted but kept going by nothing but sheer will, across the carnage, getting ever closer but not quite close enough.

_ Maybe he can kill her,  _ she thought hopelessly as the pain in her side from her fall became too strong to ignore much longer.  _ He can do it, and it will all end now.  _

But that wasn’t realistic, she realised with a jolt of cold fear. Because Daenerys might not have noticed him yet, still fretting over the dragon’s wound, but the dragon had, and it was rearing its head. 

“Jaime!” She was almost close enough to touch him now, but he still couldn’t hear her. “J-”

The back of the monster’s throat began to turn red. 

“No!” she roared, throwing herself at him and knocking him off his horse.

As the flame went over their heads and they ducked to safety, however, she realised she’d made one miscalculation. 

The dragon had been right by the edge of the cliff, away from most of the fighting, and she’d pulled him  _ away  _ from the rest of the fighting, which meant -

She held him tight as the ground vanished and they tumbled down the cliffside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!


	35. Two Queens and One King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime and Brienne struggle for survival at Casterly Rock, and realise that the war against Daenerys is a lost cause.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for leaving you on that very literal cliffhanger. Also, thank you so much for your feedback! I really appreciate it when I do get it, it's really encouraging and helps with the writing process.

**Brienne**

Brienne could have sworn she lost consciousness for a few moments as every organ in her body lurched sideways and her mind flooded with a maddening, desperate panic. 

She could faintly feel her hands clutching something, but she wasn’t sure what it was, only knew that her knuckles were squeezed as tight as her eyes and that the air screeching in her ear was the most painful thing she’d ever heard. 

She blinked her eyes open - _Jaime, she realised, she was holding Jaime -_ and they instantly stung with the force of the wind. 

“Brienne!” he yelled. “Feet first!”

“What?” she shouted. The water was getting ever closer now, swirling menacingly beneath them. 

“Let go of me, and - agh -”

She let go of him instantly, and he fell faster as she tried to rearrange her body to hit the water straight on. 

He crashed into the water, and she quickly followed, submerged for a few moments before pulling herself up and breaking the surface, desperately kicking her legs to stay afloat. 

She let out a cry as she took a spluttering breath, recovering from the absolute terror she’d experienced in the past ten seconds or so. “Fuck,” she breathed, feeling her chest heaving. “Jaime, we-”

But Jaime was nowhere to be seen. 

“Jaime?”

She looked down, and she almost lost control and let herself sink.

She couldn’t see Jaime’s face, but she could see his back, and his legs struggling pathetically as he tried to keep himself afloat. _His armour,_ she realised, her heart pounding restlessly against her ribs. _It’s too heavy, it’s weighing him down…_

Barely thinking any of this through, she took a deep breath, and pulled herself under the water once more. The depths were murky, and they were still quite far from the shore, but she could see the gold of his armour winking at her from beneath the waves. 

_How long can a person survive before drowning?_ She tried to recall as she forced herself down towards him. _Two minutes, maybe._ She wasn’t sure how long it had been: it felt like hours, it felt like milliseconds. 

He turned towards her, his eyes wide, and she scooped him up. He should have been far too heavy in his armour and under the water, but something in her brain willed her to ignore the pain in her arms and legs and chest as she pushed them up to the surface once again, creating a furor with the kicking of her legs in the water. 

She felt little relief as her head crested the waves once more. _I have to get this armour off him._

His head was barely bobbing above the water, and he let out an almighty spluttering cough, water expelling itself from his lungs. 

“Brienne,” he said thinly. “I can’t…”

Immediately, she began to undo the straps on his pauldrons - the standard Lannister armour really was heavy, but if she could just get the breastplate off him he might be able to swim out. Her own armour was, mercifully, much more lightweight: she had Jaime to thank for that, after all, and now it had saved both of them. 

She beat the water relentlessly with her feet, using every last ounce of her strength to keep them both afloat. _Please, please don’t let it be too late. Not after everything._

Tears started to form in her eyes, stinging and salty as the water around her, but she kept going, holding him in her arms and fighting to keep his head above water as she undid his breastplate. 

Finally, the breastplate came loose, and she tossed it out onto the waves as she held Jaime, finally managing to get her own ribcage all the way above water.

“I was trying-” His words were cut off by another hacking cough, more water pouring from his lungs. “Oh, gods. I was trying to swim up, but-”

“Your armour,” she panted. “I thought - fuck, I thought-”

“Brienne,” he said, his voice still weak. “I’m alright.” He looked up at her, and smiled, despite the pain he was clearly in. “Thank you for saving me.”

“What did you expect me to do? Leave you to drown?”

He shrugged. “You never know.” 

She tilted his head forwards, and his lungs released more water. 

“Can you swim out?” She glanced nervously at the shore.

“I’ll manage.”

“I can hold you,” she said, lowering herself into a swimming position. 

“I said, I can manage.”

She held him anyway. 

They made it to a little cave not far from the shore, and managed to start a meagre fire by the entrance as they both tried to dry themselves off and stop their shaking: the Sunset Sea was definitely feeling the chill of winter, now, and neither of them particularly felt like catching a cold. 

“You don’t think the Unsullied will find us here?” Brienne asked.

Jaime shook his head. “This is around the other side of the bridge. Caves are just caves over here, they don’t lead anywhere interesting. Besides, they probably think we’re dead by now.”

Brienne laughed. “It is a miracle we both survived that fall.”

“Not a miracle,” Jaime said warmly, despite the chattering of his teeth. “That was all you.”

He glanced up at the roof of the cave, dripping with stalactites and dampness, and his face suddenly fell, like the ghost of a past memory had just flickered before his eyes. 

“Are you alright?” Brienne asked.

“I remember this cave,” Jaime said sorrowfully. 

“You do?”

“This is where Cersei and I kissed for the first time.”

Brienne blinked a few times, not really knowing how to respond to that. “Oh.”

“We were nine years old,” he said. “I’m not even sure we knew what we were doing, back then. It was all perfectly innocent, until suddenly it wasn’t. Then we were, oh, you know, two halves of the same soul and all that, for thirty-odd years.”

He glanced up at her, a soft smile gracing his face. “Until you came along.”

“I’m not the one who pulled you apart,” she said modestly. “You did that yourselves.”

“Maybe,” he said. “But I doubt it would have been the same.”

He reached for her hand, just as icy-cold as his, and she took it. 

“I wonder what I would have thought, all those years ago, if I’d known I would be here with a different woman altogether.” 

“I don’t think you would have believed it,” Brienne said, circling his hand with her thumb to work out the chill. “Especially not with a woman like me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, you know,” she said. “Tall, brutish, ugly as an aurochs.” 

“That,” Jaime said, with a wry chuckle, “is exactly the kind of woman I’d like to kiss in this very cave. And everywhere else I can, wherever I get the chance to, for the rest of my life.”

The firelight glowed in his bright eyes, softening his face and slowly melting her heart. She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, blushing not only from the warmth of the fire. 

_I’ve been with this man for years now and I’m still blushing like a young girl._

He pressed a soft kiss to her lips, and for a few fleeting moments the chill that wracked her to the bone was overcome with warmth. 

She pressed her hands to his cheeks, and he instantly flinched. 

“Sorry,” he said hastily, leaning back into her again. “Your hands are still like blocks of ice.”

“Oh,” she said, and let out a laugh. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright,” he said. “I can only imagine how many times this-” he raised his golden hand - “has caused you the same problem.”

“Don’t even get me started.” Brienne grinned. “The number of times you’ve forgotten to take it off before bed, and I’ve woken up with a freezing cold lump of metal on my back.”

He let out a laugh that echoed around the cave, the sound engulfing her like a warm blanket. 

“Oh, gods,” he said. “What are we going to do now? I mean, we can’t just rejoin the battle.”

“I suspect the battle is as good as lost,” Brienne said, the warmth of his touch joined by a sense of sinking disappointment. “There won’t be anything to rejoin.”

“So what now? We just slink back home?” 

“I suppose so.” They didn’t have a horse, or any supplies - Jaime didn’t even have half his armour anymore. “How are we going to get up?”

“We need to go along the shoreline,” Jaime said thoughtfully, as if envisioning a map of the area before his eyes. “Away from Lannisport, to Kayce. We can pick up some horses from there and go back east - I doubt Daenerys and her forces will want to take such an insignificant place, and House Kenning is loyal to the Lannisters. They wouldn’t turn us away.” He looked down at Brienne’s side. “Will you be alright to walk?”

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” Brienne said, rubbing her injuries tenderly. “Just bruised. I’ve had worse.”

“We’ve both trudged across the Seven Kingdoms in quite the state before,” he said. “I’m sure we can manage it again.”

She let out a laugh. “We have, haven’t we?”

“You and me, on the road to King’s Landing again.” He smiled wistfully. “I suppose I won’t be so blindly nostalgic once we set off and I remember how gods-awful it was.”

“We can stay a little while longer, can’t we?”

Jaime shuffled closer to the crackling fire. “Of course we can. Just a little while.”

She smiled wistfully, and placed her head on his shoulder. 

**Cersei**

“Your Grace?”

Cersei turned around slowly, tearing her gaze away from the faintly sunlit window of her chambers.

“Oh,” she said blankly, setting her wineglass down at her side. “Qyburn. Are you…”

“I thought you would like to know that reports are coming from the Westerlands that one of the Dragon Queen’s great beasts was wounded by our scorpion. Wounded, not killed, but promising nonetheless.”

“I take it there’s still no news of Jaime or Brienne?” 

She wasn’t looking up at him, had her eyes fixed on the floor, but she could tell he was shaking his head. 

“Ten days,” she said, picking up her glass again. “Ten days they’ve been missing, and not a word from anyone about their whereabouts.”

“Are you alright - I’m sorry, Your Grace, I know that’s a rather redundant question.”

“You would be right there,” she said bitterly. 

_You’ve started drinking more again,_ she could practically feel him thinking. _Look at the state you’ve managed to get yourself into._

“Would you like me to sit?” 

He was talking to her like she was a child - but that was exactly how she felt, she supposed. A lonely, scared, angry child. 

_The great Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Look at her now._

She nodded, and he sat down beside her. Instantly, he removed her glass and placed it on the floor. 

“Qyburn!” she protested. 

“Your orders were clear,” he said. “I was told not to let you drink too much. I think now might be the time to take your own advice.”

“Perhaps,” she sighed. Her gaze fell once again to the window. 

“What are you looking at?” Qyburn asked. 

She pointed through the intricately carved wooden screen. “There’s Myrcella and Trystane, in the gardens.”

“Oh,” Qyburn said, following her gaze. 

Myrcella laughed brightly as Trystane made a remark, clapping her hands together in amusement. He chuckled too, and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. 

“They look very happy,” he commented. 

“They are.”

The two of them looked at the couple in the garden in silence for a few moments. 

“Cersei,” Qyburn said. “Tell me, really. How are you?”

She smiled sadly, and cast her eyes down. “I’m lonely,” she said plainly. “I’m not alone, but I’m lonely. And until I know, beyond all doubt, that Brienne and Jaime are alive, that isn’t going to change.”

He sighed. “I’ve never been very good with consoling people.”

“You don’t need to be,” she said. 

He relaxed his shoulders. “Thank the gods.” 

She turned away from the window, slumping herself against the wall. “Be honest. Do you think they survived?” 

He thinned his lips. “It’s difficult to say. Lady Brienne and Ser Jaime are both skilled warriors, there is no doubt about that. I suppose they would fare well against the Unsullied. But a dragon...I’m sorry, Your Grace. I can’t be sure.”

That idea wasn’t unfamiliar to her, not at all. It did nothing to change the hollow pit of fear within her, except give it validation. 

_Perhaps I should just accept it,_ she thought bitterly. _We lost the battle. They’re missing, presumed dead._ No one had wanted to say the “presumed dead” part, but she had inferred it. 

“I’ve discovered something, recently.” Her voice was coming out hoarse, now, the back of her throat closing up. “My leadership...is not my own. It’s all of ours. A government of three, two queens and one king. I have my Council, I have my advisors, but…” _Dear gods, please don’t let me weep. Not yet._ “I need them. We need each other, for this kingdom to survive. If they die…” She looked up at the ceiling, willing the tears not to spill over her eyes. “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

Qyburn’s eyes were filled with sympathy as he looked at her. A part of her tried to recoil from that - _I don’t want your pity,_ she thought, but she didn’t quite have the will to turn him away. 

“I suppose that makes me a terrible queen,” she said, an empty laugh permeating her words. “Being so dependent. I suppose the whole Seven Kingdoms should pray for their return.”

There was a knock at the door, and she huffed. 

“I don’t have the strength to deal with anyone else today,” she said, getting up, but Qyburn shook his head. 

“I’ll get it,” he said. “And if it’s any of your advisors, I’ll tell them to...ah, what was the expression you used?”

“Fuck off?”

He chuckled. “That’s the one.”

She wrung her hands restlessly as he strode over to the door, twisting the citrine ring on her index finger on and off. _We were all fools to believe it would turn out alright. We’ve survived far too much already, been far too reckless - I suppose it was only a matter of time._

“Is Cersei here?” 

She didn’t recognise the voice at the door, not at first. She was still staring at her hands, eating herself alive with her own thoughts. 

But once silence filled the room again, her whole body tensed up with the _feeling_ of shock before she even fully registered what was happening. Her - it was _her -_

She shot to her feet as her mind finally caught up with her body. 

“Brienne.” She tried to do something - run towards the door, weep, laugh - but she found her feet rooted to the floor. 

Qyburn ducked out of the doorframe, and there they were: dirtied, weary, missing a few pieces of armour, but _alive._ Alive, and home, and _there._ Brienne and Jaime. 

She met Brienne’s bright eyes, and a laugh pushed itself from her lungs, half a cry and half a sigh of relief. 

Before she knew what was happening, Brienne was running towards her, and then she was being held tighter than she’d ever been held before, and she was burying her head into her shoulder, right up on her tiptoes, relishing every inch of Brienne’s skin on hers - it was cold, from the wind and the weather, but it felt warm to her. 

“I thought you were dead,” she breathed, and then she realised there were tears on her cheeks. “I thought you were-”

“I know,” Brienne said softly into her ear. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” Cersei said, and she kissed Brienne’s neck gently. “Don’t apologise.”

“Careful you don’t crush her ribs,” Jaime laughed. “Your hugs are ferocious.”

Cersei tore herself away from Brienne’s shoulder, and glanced up at Jaime. He was standing right next to them, now, beaming at the two of them. 

“What happened to you? I heard you were missing, I didn’t know what to think.”

“We, uh, fell off a cliff,” Jaime said. 

“You fell off a-” She closed her mouth as she realised how loud her voice had become. “Are you alright?”

“I’ve been worse,” he shrugged. “We were trying to get away from a dragon.”

“No,” Brienne said, “you were going towards the dragon, and _I_ was the one trying to get us away.”

“They tricked us,” Jaime explained. “Somehow, they snuck into Casterly Rock, and attacked us from the wrong side. We were completely outnumbered, and the dragon…if anything, I’m surprised we lasted as long as we did.”

Jaime looked over Cersei at Brienne briefly. “Can we sit down? It’s been a long week.”

“Of course,” Cersei said, still reeling from the sheer shock of their return. “Are you...I mean, I suppose the question is rather redundant, but how are you?”

Brienne sat herself down on their bed, clearly relishing the comfort of the soft mattress and silk covers after so many days of travelling. 

She glanced up at Cersei, and there was a solemnity in her expression that crushed Cersei’s exuberant relief and set her on edge again. “I know it’s been a long few weeks for you, and it has been for us too, but we need to talk about this. Now.”

Cersei turned towards Jaime, who was wearing the same look. “Is something the matter?”

Jaime clenched his jaw. “I know you wouldn’t want us to...gloss over what happened. And I know you know we lost.”

“...Of course.” She frowned. “Is there…”

“But what I don’t think you understand,” Jaime said, “is just how much we lost. We fought bravely, but for Daenerys’ men killing us wasn’t a fight. It was sport.”

“And that’s without mentioning the dragon,” Brienne said. “We lost so many men faster than we could ever replace them, along with supplies, wagons, horses...I mean, the fields by the Rock are a wasteland now, practically. Scorched earth. And she has two more of those. This isn’t a war we can win.”

She barely knew how to comprehend that. 

“...I know,” she said, going to sit down next to Brienne. “It will be difficult, but I’ve been looking into hiring mercenaries, and we’ve accumulated five thousand more-”

Brienne shook her head, and there was a look of distinct pain behind her eyes. “No,” she said. “It’s not that it’ll be difficult. It’s that it will be impossible.”

Her tone made Cersei recoil from her: she sounded like she was angry at her. _I haven’t done anything wrong, Brienne._

“Her dragons can obliterate five thousand men in a matter of seconds,” Jaime said. “Cersei - I know you want to fight for as long as we can, and I understand that - but we can’t do that. Not knowing what we risk if we go on the same way.”

“No,” she said incredulously. “Don’t be ridiculous. We have to-” She glanced back at Brienne. “We can’t just give up.”

“Cersei,” Brienne said sternly. “The fact that Jaime and I are both alive is nothing short of a miracle.”

She reached out for her hand, and clutched it, interweaving their cold fingers. “To go on would be suicide.”

Cersei looked down at their hands in disbelief. They couldn’t just _stop,_ not after everything they’d worked for, all the men and resources and allies and _fucking Selwyn Tarth_ they’d amassed, they couldn’t just throw that all away…

“Please,” Brienne said. Her voice cracked, and Cersei winced. 

Perhaps she was right: no matter how hard Cersei tried to cling to the idea of defending the Seven Kingdoms from Daenerys, it would never work. Not against what she had, and not against what Brienne and Jaime had seen. 

“So what do we do?” she said numbly, glancing back up at Brienne’s eyes. “We can’t just surrender.”

“Of course not,” Jaime said. “That would be suicide as well.” He sighed, and made furtive eye contact with Brienne. “Gods, the number of times we’ve had this conversation in the past week.”

Brienne smiled sadly. “We really did talk ourselves into a lot of dead ends. We were hoping you would be able to shed some light on the situation, but…”

“We should call a Small Council meeting,” Cersei said decisively. “Redirect the war efforts as quickly as possible, but - well, we should probably still keep an emphasis on defence-”

There was yet another knock at the door, and she rolled her eyes. 

“I’ll get it,” she said, getting up. “It might be Kevan, actually, in which case we should probably call the meeting straight away.”

She flung open the door, ready to make some comment about arranging an emergency meeting, but -

“Qyburn?” Cersei frowned. “I...didn’t even realise you’d left.”

“I thought it would be best to give you three some time alone,” he said. “But I’ve just received a, uh, a message. For Ser Jaime.”

“...Oh?” She glanced over her shoulder to look at him, and he didn’t look any less perplexed than she was. “Were you expecting a message?”

“What did it say?” Jaime asked, hurriedly making his way towards the door. 

Qyburn gritted his teeth. “I was told by the Queensguard outside, who said a maid told him-”

“Yes, but what was it?” 

“Is something the matter?” Cersei said apprehensively, and Qyburn gave her a furtive look that said _yes._

“Someone - and I don’t know who - wants to see you in the Black Cells.” He put his hands up in mock surrender. “That’s all I know, I’m sorry.”

Cersei glanced back at him. “Someone?”

“Jaime?” Brienne said, striding over to the doorway. “That doesn’t sound particularly safe.”

“You think whoever this is wants to hurt me?” 

“It does sound rather ominous,” Cersei agreed. “And poorly timed.”

The three of them looked between each other, all incredibly puzzled but unsettled nonetheless. 

“Well,” Jaime said. “Whoever this is, if they want to see me, they can bloody well see me.”

“I’m coming with you,” Brienne said, the second the words left his mouth. “Both of us are.”

“We are?” Cersei said. “I mean - we are. Whatever they want to say to you, they can say it to our faces, too.”

She plucked Promise from where it hung on her wall and sheathed it at her side. 

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “You think-”

“I don’t want to take any chances,” Cersei said.

“Well,” Jaime said drily. “If I can survive falling off a cliff and almost drowning, I can handle some anonymous face who wants to meet me in my own home.”

“I’m beginning to think,” Brienne said slowly, holding a torch aloft, “that this was a bad idea.”

They’d made it down to the deepest level of the crypts, and there was no sign of any life, save for a few desperate prisoners rotting in their cells. Cersei had accidentally met eyes with what was left of the High Sparrow through the grate in his wall, and if she hadn’t been terrified before, she certainly was now. 

“Hello?” Cersei shouted. “If this is some sort of cruel joke, I’ll…” She slumped her shoulders in defeat. “I don’t fucking know.” 

“Do you think we should just go back?” Jaime asked. 

“Hello?”

Cersei’s hand immediately flew to the hilt of her sword as an unfamiliar voice permeated the darkness. 

In the corner of her vision, she saw Jaime’s good hand clutch Brienne’s. 

“You’re rather late,” the voice said, and dread pooled within Cersei as she realised she recognised that voice. 

But it couldn’t be. It…

A figure came into the torchlight. A distinctly short figure. 

He looked as though he’d aged ten years or so, and was sporting significantly more facial hair than he had been the last time she’d seen him. 

But, regrettably, she would know that face anywhere. And that scar.

“Didn’t I say I wanted to meet you alone?” Tyrion said. 

Cersei instantly drew Promise, the blade striking through the dark like a bolt of lightning. 

“Whoah!” Brienne put an arm out, holding her back as she stumbled forwards. “Whoah. No.”

Jaime blinked in disbelief. “We...you…” 

He glanced back at Cersei and Brienne. “ _What?”_

“You gave her a sword?” Tyrion said. “You gave our crazy sister a _sword?”_

“I’ll show you crazy,” Cersei said, railing against Brienne’s grip. 

“No, you won’t,” Brienne said sternly. “Put it back.”

“No!”

“I said, put it back.” 

Cersei obeyed, huffing. “If he kills us…”

“I’m not going to kill you!” Tyrion protested. “I wanted to speak to Jaime - I wasn’t aware we would be having company.” 

“You didn’t hesitate to kill Father.”

“I don’t remember any of us complaining about that,” Jaime said pointedly. He wasn’t wrong. “But it’s been...what, almost three years? If you wanted to come back, you could have just...I mean, why now?”

Tyrion took a deep breath. “Well. This is going to be interesting to explain.”

Just as Cersei’s guard had begun to come down, it shot right back up again. “Why?” she asked. “What could you possibly have to explain to any of us.”

“I…”

“I saw you,” Brienne said. “At the battle. I thought I was imagining it, but you were there, weren’t you?”

Tyrion nodded. “I saw you too. When you fired that scorpion...I mean, I thought that was it for a moment.”

Cersei squinted at him. “What’s that on your chest?”

“What?”

“Come into the light.”

He glanced around furtively. “I don’t…”

“Come into the light, or I’ll set you on fire with it.”

“She won’t,” Brienne mouthed. 

“I will.”

Tyrion sighed, and stepped forwards. 

Cersei’s eyes widened. “That’s-”

“The Hand brooch,” Brienne said. “But that’s impossible.”

“I see you and I have taken on the same mantle, Lady Brienne,” Tyrion said hesitantly. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you as Hand of the Queen. And I’m sure you’re surprised to see me...as Hand to Daenerys Targaryen.”

Those last two words hit the three of them agonisingly slowly, not quite registering with them at first. Cersei was too shocked to fully comprehend it, but while her mind processed it her body was overwhelmed with a mass of something like anger, something stronger…

“What the _fuck?”_ Cersei shouted, finally, and the sound of her voice echoed throughout the crypt. 

“Cersei,” Jaime hissed. “I give you full permission to take your sword out again.” 

“You’re telling me,” she said, “that all this time, you’ve been sitting on the other side of the world, acting as Hand to the woman who’s trying to take what’s mine?”

“Technically, it’s not yours.”

She scoffed. “I am going to _snap your neck-”_

“Not if I do it first,” Jaime said. “That’s how the Unsullied got into Casterly Rock, isn’t it? Through the sewers. I should have known-”

“Oh, stop!” Brienne said. “Both of you, stop it.”

“Why should I?” Cersei said. “He-”

“Listen,” Brienne said, glancing between the two of them. “He came here for a reason. To talk to us. And the way things are looking right now, talking to the enemy might be the only solution we have.”

Cersei swallowed stiffly. “Brienne-”

“What do you want?” Brienne asked Tyrion. “Speak. Please.”

Tyrion sighed. “We all know Daenerys will win this war.”

Oh, this was too soon. Too soon and too much. Her hands were shaking with abject fury now, the emotional confusion of Jaime and Brienne returning and now this almost too much to bear. 

“After what you saw at Casterly Rock, you should know full well that you can’t beat us.” He sounded more forlorn than smug, which was odd. “But I need you to listen. Daenerys is not her father.”

“Don’t bring Aerys into this,” Jaime muttered. “Please.”

“What I _mean,_ is that I’ve spoken to her, and she’s willing to suspend the hostilities if Cersei agrees to certain terms.” Once again, he turned to look at her, and she felt that anger in her blood surge back up again. 

“And what might these terms be?” she said bitterly. “That I hand her the Iron Throne? Get on my knees and beg for mercy?”

“She doesn’t want you to bend the knee.”

“I want to believe that,” Brienne said solemnly. “More than anything. But after what I’ve seen her do and what I know she’s capable of, I’m finding it rather difficult to believe.”

Cersei nodded. If Daenerys was willing to take a more conciliatory approach, if she was willing to stand down and make peace with them, it would be the answer to all their problems. 

But she felt a fool to believe she would, after all they’d been through. 

“She has a more important request. One that involves the endangerment of the entire Seven Kingdoms.”

Those words sounded rather familiar, but Cersei couldn’t think where she’d heard them before. 

Tyrion brought his hands together, clearly nervous about something. “Gods, this will be difficult to explain. If I can ask you to bear with me.”

“We will,” Jaime said. “As long as you remain…bearable.”

“Well.” Tyrion took a deep breath. “There’s a, uh...well, there’s an army of White Walkers coming from beyond the wall, and if we don’t gather enough men and weapons to fight them, we’re fucked. All of us.”

“Oh, please.” Cersei rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me Sansa Stark is playing the same game with Daenerys as she was with me.”

“What does Sansa have to do with any of this?” Brienne asked. 

“Never mind Sansa,” Jaime said. “Wh...what do you mean, an army of White Walkers? As in-”

“From the stories. Except they’re real. I told you, you would have to bear with me.”

Cersei’s eyes flickered aimlessly into the darkness as she thought back to what Sansa had said in her letter. 

She’d simply assumed that Sansa was lying to her, manipulating her promise of aiding the North to strip the Lannister troops of their men for some ulterior purpose, using the Army of the Dead to seem like a sad, delusional little girl who posed no real threat. Of course, Cersei had seen past that: the only problem had been that she was in too dire a position to properly challenge her. 

But the fact that Tyrion had bought into this, too…

“Where did you hear about these White Walkers?” 

“From Jon Snow. He-”

“If this is the North,” Brienne said. “What does Daenerys have to do with this?”

“Jon Snow approached us at Dragonstone with the intention of mining dragonglass for the war against the dead. At first, Daenerys - and admittedly, I - was as difficult to convince as you three are being now.”

“Hold on,” Cersei said. “Jon Snow and Daenerys _met?”_

Tyrion nodded.

“That lying bastard,” she said. 

Tyrion sighed. “Unfortunately, both you and Sansa Stark have put Daenerys in a very difficult position. If the North allies with her, they risk being declared traitors by you: if the North allies with you, Daenerys will declare them traitors too. Right now, we are all at a stalemate. If you want a way out of it, you would do well to listen to her demands.”

Cersei glanced at Brienne, then at Jaime. Both of their furtive, wide-eyed expressions seemed to reflect what she was thinking: _this is one hell of a gamble, but right now whatever strange, warped opportunity this is might be our only hope._

“Go on,” Cersei said. 

“What we need to do,” Tyrion said, “is put our weapons down and talk. I know, I know, you’re sceptical, you won’t fall for that, you still don’t believe that the army of the dead exists. But if we can prove to you, somehow, that White Walkers are a real threat to the Seven Kingdoms…would you be willing to aid us, and the North, in the fight against them?”

 _This is absurd,_ Cersei thought. _We’re being tricked into believing in fairy stories, and for what?_

“Cersei,” Brienne muttered cautiously. “Is this really a gamble we want to take?”

“What?” 

“It sounds ridiculous, I know. But stranger things have happened, and if this is true...I mean, what do we have to lose by sitting down and talking?”

Cersei glanced over to Jaime. “What do you think?”

Jaime thinned his lips. “I think this is our only chance of getting out of the mess we’re in.”

What was it she’d said to Qyburn before? _This is a government of three. Two queens and one king._

As much as the idea of having a parley with a would-be conqueror made her skin crawl, they were right.

“We do it here,” Cersei said. 

Brienne glanced at her. “Why?”

“I’m not risking walking into a trap,” she said adamantly. “Those are _my_ terms.”

Tyrion nodded apprehensively. “I’ll pass on the message.”

He turned, as if to walk away. 

“Wh-” Jaime started. “That’s all you’re going to say?”

“I have nothing more to say to you,” Tyrion said. “We will meet here, in King’s Landing, to discuss the future of this war and the fight against the army of the dead. That is all.”

And with that, he left. 

Cersei blinked in disbelief. “Um.”

“What have we just agreed to?” Jaime stuttered. “I mean, I know it’s better than where we were before, but...I mean, _White Walkers._ I’m finding this all terribly difficult to believe.”

“You said Sansa Stark mentioned them,” Brienne said. “Do you think she was telling the truth?”

“I don’t know what to think anymore,” Cersei said. “But I have a feeling you were right. If we keep trying to fight Daenerys as we are now, we’ll be making a fatal mistake.” 

She just prayed they weren’t making another one now. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts.   
> I said this in a reply to someone's comment, but I'd just like to reiterate it: the chapter count as it is now is not final. I know what story there is left to tell, but I'm not sure how long I need to tell it, so it could increase, but likely won't decrease.   
> There are, however, only two chapters left of A Rose That Blooms in Winter :( (but that definitely doesn't mean the end of Sansa and Margaery, or the rest of the Starks!)


	36. Convergence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa and Margaery return to King's Landing for the meeting at the Dragonpit. Cersei, Jaime and Brienne prepare to meet with Daenerys and listen to her demands, but are greeted by something far worse than they could have imagined.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay in updating this: I realised I'd messed up the posting schedules for A Rose That Blooms In Winter and had to post two chapters in a row of that to finish before this chapter. Either way, it's nice to have Sansaery back here (though I don't imagine they feel the same!)  
> Anyway, enjoy!

**Cersei**

“There’s a few Greyjoy ships on the other side of the bay,” Brienne remarked, peering over at the balcony from her chair. “What are they doing there?”

Cersei looked up from the letters she’d been poring over, trying to remember every little detail in Sansa’s agreement in case the North tried anything untoward. “What?” 

She glanced over to where Brienne was looking. “Oh, that’ll be...ah, what’s his name - Theon. Mind you, that’s not a particularly impressive number of ships.”

“Whatever happened to his sister?” Brienne asked. 

Cersei shrugged. “The interrogation didn’t yield much, I don’t think. She’s still down in the Black Cells.”

“Ah.” Brienne didn’t move her eyes from the horizon. 

The day of the parley with Daenerys and the North had arrived with a terrible amount of fanfare: they’d spent the past few weeks fortifying the castle walls, building more scorpions, surrounding Blackwater Bay with Euron’s ships, which meant they would have to welcome him to the ceasefire too but did _not_ mean they were going to tolerate him. 

Perhaps they were going a little overboard for a situation where the whole premise had been _put down our weapons and talk,_ but Cersei didn’t want to take any risks. She didn’t trust Daenerys not to break her promise, not in the slightest. 

Jaime stumbled into the room, his armour clattering as he rounded the doorway, which startled both Cersei and Brienne. 

“You look...shaken,” Brienne said. She was right: Jaime’s eyes were wide, and his hair was all ruffled, presumably from the wind. “Did you-”

“I’ve just been up to the battlements,” he said breathily. “I saw the Dothraki.”

“And?”

He sighed. “Let’s just say it’s a damn good thing we’re surrendering.”

Cersei clenched her teeth. She hated remembering that they were only doing this because they had no other choice: while Daenerys seemed to also be in a position where she could not go forwards without coming to some sort of agreement, it stung that had she not been reliant on the North, she could easily have overpowered them. 

“What about the dragons?” Brienne asked. “Did you see any of them?”

Jaime shook his head. “No. Which makes me wonder where they’re lurking.”

“Well, let’s just hope there isn’t a repeat of last time,” Brienne said. 

Cersei picked up her delicate silver crown and placed it on her head, tucking any loose strands of hair behind her ears. “Where’s Myrcella?” 

“She, Trystane and Tommen are meeting us downstairs,” Jaime said. 

She raised her eyebrows. “I thought Tommen wasn’t coming?”

“Apparently he changed his mind in the end,” Jaime said, with a small smile. “I think he feels...ready, now, to get involved in the political side of things again.”

Cersei smiled proudly. 

“Are we just bringing swords?” Brienne asked, sorting her way through the rack of weapons on the far wall of their chambers. “That should be enough, shouldn’t it?”

“Unless Daenerys’s friends show up armed to the teeth,” Cersei said, “that should suffice.”

She adjusted the sheath at her own side, shifting it so Promise didn’t knock awkwardly against her leg. There was no doubt that this was to be a show of intimidation, despite the peaceful facade of the meeting. She’d made sure her dress reflected that, although she’d had to forgo the black leather one Brienne loved so much for a red one with gold armour around the shoulders and neck, hopefully displaying her house loyalty along with her readiness to defend herself: not a preparation for battle per se, but a warning to anyone who might want to test her. 

For all that Daenerys might have branded herself a warrior queen, Cersei thought she could definitely take her in a sword fight. It was almost a shame it wouldn’t come to that. 

“It’ll be nearing midday soon,” Jaime remarked, peering at the sunlight streaming through the window. “We should probably start making our way down to the Dragonpit.”

Cersei clenched her fists at her side. “If this is a trap…”

“If it’s any consolation,” Brienne said, “the Northerners probably think they’re walking into one too.”

Jaime scoffed. “So much for mutual trust and respect. Though I suppose that was never going to be any part of this.”

“Of course not,” Cersei said, turning around to face him. “Now let’s go and greet our guests.” 

**Sansa**

The moment she and Margaery had entered the city, they’d been cornered by a troop of Lannister guards. 

At first, she’d been terrified, reaching for the trusty knife she kept hidden up her sleeve now and fearing the worst, that this had been a trap after all, but then they’d reassured her that they were simply there to escort them to the Dragonpit. 

“Gods, the Dragonpit,” Margaery whispered, as they began to walk stiffly along the road by the sea. “That sounds...ominous.”

Sansa shuddered. “I knew coming back here was a terrible idea.”

She had to keep reminding herself that they were in King’s Landing for a reason, that they had come there to negotiate and to protect the Seven Kingdoms from destroying itself and allowing the dead to come beyond the wall. 

“It’s just as awful as I remember,” Margaery muttered to her. “It’s so dry and soulless.”

“The smell’s improved.”

“The smell?”

“It’s not quite so rotten. Though that might just be the cold weather.”

Margaery nodded. “Either way, I hate this wretched place. Let’s just hope Cersei and Daenerys decide to play nicely, before-”

Her voice trailed off as they rounded a corner and came face to face with another group of people, also marching towards the Dragonpit. She didn’t recognise any of them at first, though she recoiled a little as she spotted the dragon motifs on some of their armour, the three-headed dragon brooch on a woman’s tunic - Targaryens, she realised, or at least Daenerys’ supporters and allies. They were there, too, a stark reminder of the conflict that hung in the balance based on this meeting. 

But then her eyes shifted towards a figure a little way back, and she gasped sharply. 

“Jon.” She couldn’t stop herself from shouting out his name, even though she regretted it the second she uttered the word - it was stupid of her to cause such a commotion. 

But he was right there in front of her. Alive, and surrounded by Daenerys’ allies. 

_He had to do what he had to do,_ she tried to remind herself. 

“Sansa,” he said. He tried to step forwards, but then the Lannister guards held out their spears, and he put his hands up in surrender. 

“Sorry,” he muttered. 

“As nice as it is to see we’re all friends,” the rather irritated-looking Lannister guard at the front of the crowd said, “can we please try to keep moving? Her Grace has sent us to escort you to the Dragonpit, not to stand around talking.”

“I had no idea Her Grace had such a tight schedule,” a familiar-sounding voice - the source of which Sansa couldn’t quite make out - said. “My sister must have something else to attend to.”

Sansa’s eyes widened as the second group merged into theirs and she caught sight of him.

“ _Tyrion?_ ”

“Lady Sansa.” He smiled up at her. “And the Lady Margaery, too.”

Margaery blinked in disbelief.

“I have to say, your brother-” Tyrion nodded his head up towards Jon, who gave a thin-lipped smile, “-told me you would be here, Sansa. But I had no idea the Tyrells would be represented, too.”

“I’m actually representing the North,” Margaery said. “Sansa and I are together.”

“They came here together,” Jon said hurriedly. 

“...Oh,” Tyrion said. “I had no idea that alliance had been made.”

“Can we get a move on, please?” the Lannister guard said. “It’ll be your heads, not mine.”

Sansa was still overwhelmed by seeing Jon again, and the fact that they were being pushed forwards rapidly meant that she couldn’t quite comprehend how momentous it was to see him after all those months as they walked alongside each other. She wanted to reach out and hug him, ask him how he was and what had happened at Dragonstone, because she still didn’t know what had happened there, but she couldn’t. Especially not given the people surrounding them. 

She’d known Jon would be there, had somewhat prepared herself to see him again, but she had no idea about Tyrion. Honestly, she’d assumed he was dead at this point, suspecting he might not have been so lucky in leaving King’s Landing. 

But had always been so kind to her, and had despised Cersei, so the gods knew what he was doing back there with his sister. 

Jon must have caught sight of the confusion on her face as she tried not to make it obvious that she was looking at Tyrion. “He’s with us,” he said. “As in, he’s with Daenerys.”

Margaery’s head turned towards Jon, whip-fast. “He’s with who?”

“Daenerys? You know, the Mother of D-”

“Yes, yes, I know. But…” She glanced down at Tyrion. “How did that happen?”

Tyrion shrugged. “I escaped King’s Landing and went to Essos. The rest is history.”

Sansa really wasn’t sure how to feel about that. She hadn’t met Daenerys yet, nor did she particularly want to, but from what she’d heard already she didn’t have a terribly favourable opinion of her. Then again, most of it was what she’d heard of her from Cersei, who wasn’t a particularly trustworthy source, but either way she really didn’t know what Tyrion was doing, allying himself with her. 

Was this just his desire to see Cersei unseated, or was there something more behind his motivations? 

“How was the journey?” Jon asked Margaery stiffly. 

“Oh, it was hell, but it didn’t take us _too_ long…”

“I won’t lie,” Tyrion said, as their conversation faded into the background. “I’m pleased to see you so well.”

Sansa scoffed. “Well would be an overstatement. Have you ever travelled down the Seven Kingdoms in the middle of winter?” 

“...Not in winter, no.”

“The worst of it hasn’t even come yet,” Sansa said. “It’ll keep getting colder, and the nights will keep getting shorter until there’s barely any daylight left.”

“And, as I hear, worse things will be coming with it.” 

“Do you believe that?” She looked at Tyrion intently, trying to decipher whether or not he was mocking her and the North. 

“While I was on my little visit to the Wall, I heard quite a few stories that shook me to my bones. When I heard they were about to come true, I decided I certainly wasn’t going to risk it.”

“Oh.” She tried not to look too relieved. “Well, good.”

“You seem happy.”

Sansa chuckled at his joke. 

“I mean it,” he said. “I know the circumstances we’ve found ourselves in are terrible, but I remember how you were when you were a child. It felt like you never stopped shaking, that just by standing next to you I could feel this insurmountable fear and sadness radiating from you. I don’t feel that anymore.”

Gods, it did used to feel like that. She’d felt like a girl made of porcelain, and that if anyone touched her she would break, but people did, and she just kept shattering. 

Perhaps she was still made of porcelain, but no one had tried to break her in a long time. Or maybe she was made of something stronger now, something reinforced. 

Either way, he was right. She was happier, if not completely happy. 

“It’s just nice to be back in Winterfell,” she said. “I never thought I’d set foot there again, so going home was just...unbelievable. And I’m surrounded by friends now.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Friends?”

“Well, my family, and Margaery, and the Tyrells-”

“Ah, yes, I remember you and Margaery being good friends in the capital. Very, very close friends, if I remember correctly. I did used to wonder if-”

“Oh, seven hells,” she said irritably. “Does everyone in the Seven Kingdoms know about us?”

“Certainly not. I’m just perceptive.” 

She rolled her eyes. “At least we didn’t make a proclamation about it, like Cersei did.”

“Ah, yes, I heard about that,” Tyrion said. “I have to say, I was surprised. The last time I’d seen her, she seemed so secretive about all of it. Ashamed of herself, even. I did wonder what she had to gain from it.”

“ _I_ wonder what she’s hiding,” Sansa said, “if she has to resort to spreading salacious rumours about herself.”

Tyrion nodded. “I-”

Margaery nudged her sharply, making her jump a little. “Sansa,” she hissed, nodding her head to the right. “Look.”

Sansa turned to follow Margaery’s gaze, and saw a man standing by the road directing a wagon to the side. 

“Look who it is.”

“If anyone touches it,” the man said, “I’ll kill you first.”

He turned around, and Sansa’s eyes widened as she saw who it was. 

“Sandor Clegane,” Sansa breathed. 

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Margaery whispered. 

“Sandor is a friend,” Jon said. “He came to Eastwatch and offered his help.”

“Oh.” Margaery narrowed her eyes. “I never really knew him. Only the stories, which were about as illustrious as you can guess.”

“I knew him,” Sansa said thoughtfully. “Gods, I never thought I’d see half these people again.”

Sandor walked away from the wagon, leaving it in the hands of a pair of guards, who stared uncomfortably at it as if it was about to explode. 

“...What’s in there?” Margaery asked. 

“Best not to ask,” Jon said. “Or look.”

Sansa made uncomfortable eye contact with Margaery as they glanced furtively at each other. That filled her with dread, the idea that Jon was keeping things from her but not from others, that there was something so terrible that it couldn’t be revealed to her. It didn’t sit well with her at all.

_But it’s not like he’s the only one who’s been hiding things, is he?_

“Well, here we are,” Jon said grimly, as they turned a corner and her gaze was pulled away from the Hound. “The Dragonpit.”

For a moment Sansa felt as though she had stepped into the ruins of Valyria. It had once been something grand, she could tell, a great old structure with walls climbing as high as the sky itself, but now it was in ruins, old and derelict and achingly lonely. 

She wondered what could have been so powerful that it destroyed a place like this. But then she remembered that it must have been called the Dragonpit for a reason, and her blood chilled. 

“I hate this,” Margaery muttered. “If Cersei wanted us to feel welcome, she really didn’t pick the place for it.”

“Over there,” some Lannister guard said some distance away, and before they knew it they were ushered under a blood-red canopy to take their seats, sheltered from the sun. 

Jon was still standing at the edge of their platform, glancing up anxiously at the sky. 

“...What happened at Dragonstone?” Sansa finally mustered up the courage to ask after a moment of uncomfortable silence. “I’m sorry, I didn’t get the chance to ask.”

“A lot.” He didn’t turn around. “It was difficult to negotiate with Daenerys.”

“But you got there eventually?” Margaery asked hopefully. 

“Unfortunately,” Jon sighed, “I’m hoping we’ll get there today.”

He still wouldn’t sit down, which made Sansa feel rather antsy, as if she too should be on the edge of her seat. 

It went quiet again, and for a minute or two all she could hear was the squawking of birds and the rustling of armour. 

“...I don’t like this,” Margaery whispered, after some time. 

“Me neither.” Sansa rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, and reached out her hand towards Margaery, who squeezed it eagerly. 

“I thought they were supposed to be here by now,” she said. 

Jon’s head turned towards the other entrance to the pit, and he retreated into his seat. 

“I think you spoke too soon,” Sansa muttered. Margaery let go of her hand reluctantly. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw them coming towards her - no, not towards her, towards their seats, but it felt like they were targeting her anyway. Amongst the red metallic throng of Lannister guards, she caught sight of a few familiar faces: Tommen and Myrcella, resplendent in yellow and gold, lurking behind their parents with some boy Sansa didn’t recognise. The old maester who had confronted her in the gardens once - Qyburn, that was his name, still looking half a shadow. Jaime Lannister in his red armour and Brienne of Tarth in her blue, his golden hand glistening in the sun just as much as the one pinned to her cloak. 

And at the front, leading all of them and dressed in resplendent red and gold, there she was. Someone she’d hoped she would never see again, and yet had ached to confront for so long. 

Cersei Lannister. 

**Cersei**

The sun wasn’t particularly hot this far into winter, but she felt strangely exposed to it under the looming ruins of the Dragonpit. The dress she was wearing suddenly felt like it was suffocating her, too close to her chin and too tightly wrapped around her waist. 

_You have the upper hand here,_ she tried to remind herself. _They are the ones in an unfamiliar place. They are not the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms._

But she had still been forced into this, had no choice but to temporarily stop the fighting and listen to the fairytales of the North and the harsh demands of the Dragon Queen. 

She restrained herself from glancing nervously at Jaime or Brienne or her children. Instead, she kept her eyes focused on those before her, not wanting to look back and show a single sign of weakness. 

She immediately caught sight of Tyrion, his eyes following her sceptically as he stood by his almost comically oversized chair, alongside many faces she didn’t recognise but who she presumed were with Daenerys. She wondered if Brienne and Jaime knew any of them from the battle, had come face to face with them at Casterly Rock. 

Ned Stark’s bastard was there, still looking as gloomy as ever, seated next to Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell, who looked awfully friendly with each other, their hands hanging off the arms of their chairs and reaching out towards one another. 

She remembered her futile plot, all those years ago, to push Sansa and Margaery together to stop Margaery from influencing Tommen. Despite her shakiness, she couldn’t restrain a smirk: she’d long suspected that her plan had worked, and this was all the confirmation she needed, even if it hadn’t resulted in much in the end considering what happened to Tommen without Margaery’s influence. 

Gods, she hadn’t thought about that in years. They both looked so much older now, presumably hardened by the cold of the North and the various battles she’d heard about. Though Cersei supposed she must look much older to them, too. 

It felt far too casual, as they sat down under their nice little canopy in their chairs: Brienne on one side of her, Jaime on the other, Myrcella, Trystane and Tommen sitting around a table together. They could have been eating lunch on her balcony together, in the bright afternoon sun, and that made her feel as if she wasn’t on edge _enough,_ like she should have her guard further up. 

“Are you alright?” Brienne whispered, not leaning in or looking at her. 

Cersei nodded discreetly. 

Despite the sheer number of people, it was so quiet, and that certainly didn’t help with her state of mind. 

“Where is she?” Jaime muttered. 

“Who?”

“ _Daenerys.”_

Cersei’s eyes widened. Amongst all of the trepidation, she’d hardly noticed the absence of the person she dreaded seeing the most. 

“Where is she?” she asked, her voice ringing out through the air. 

“She’ll be here soon,” Tyrion said. 

“...She didn’t travel with you?” She tapped her fingers restlessly on the arms of her chair. 

“No.”

Brienne glanced at her intently, and Cersei returned her look of concern. _If she isn’t here, then where in all seven hells is she?_

She straightened her back in her chair, trying to maintain some facade of cool, unbothered steeliness, to hold her head high as she glanced out at her guests. 

Sansa Stark was staring directly at her, regarding her with curious eyes. Cersei did her best to avert her gaze, but even across the dusty pit she could feel her gaze on her. _What is she -_

Brienne jolted upright. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear wh-”

“Fuck,” Jaime breathed. “No, no, no…”

“What are you talking about?” Cersei hissed. “I can’t hear anything-”

But she could _feel_ something. She’d thought it was just her anticipation, settling deep into the pit of her stomach, but there was something deeper, something ominous, that set her on a knife edge and made her blood run cold. 

_The ground is shaking._

There was a horrifying squawking noise as a shadow fell over the Dragonpit, and her stomach lurched. 

As much as she hated it, Cersei couldn’t escape the sheer sense of wonder that rose within her as the two dragons beat their great wings across the sky. She’d always dreamed of flying on dragons when she was a girl, thought that Rhaegar Targaryen would take her soaring above Casterly Rock atop one once they were married: even though she knew the last dragon had died years before that, the fantasy had kept coming back to her. 

The fact that Daenerys was Rhaegar’s sister was strangely dissonant to her. This wasn’t just some strange woman from another land, she’d known her family, spoken to them, been in love with one of them...or at least, in love with what he could have given her…

Daenerys landed with a crumbling crash atop the arena walls, and any fantastical feeling dissolved instantly. Would it have been that difficult for her to land outside the Dragonpit and walk in, or was making an entrance that important? 

Cersei’s fingers curled in irritation. There was another dragon behind the one that had crash-landed on the ruins, and it remained circling in the sky, like a hawk watching its prey. 

“Wasn’t one enough?” she muttered irritably. 

“Forget one,” Brienne breathed, “there’s only two?”

“Only?”

“She’s supposed to have three. So where’s the other one?”

“You think it’s dead?” 

“I think,” Brienne said decisively, “that if she still had all three, she would have utilised them for her grand entrance.”

“You came close to killing that black one, didn’t you?”

Brienne nodded. “The bolt landed in its side. I’m impressed it’s healed so quickly.”

Daenerys walked calmly towards her seat, right down the middle of the pit. Perhaps Cersei was just already irritated, but she certainly seemed to be taking her time. 

_She’s short,_ was the first thing Cersei thought about her appearance, rather absurdly. _Much less intimidating than I expected._

But this was her. The woman she’d been at war with: the conqueror who’d tried to kill both Brienne and Jaime, whose cohorts wanted to kill Myrcella and laid siege to her ancestral home. Who wanted to take everything and more from Cersei. 

It was strange, then, seeing her face. Seeing that she wasn’t some monstrous, shapeless force, just a young woman, little more than a child. 

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei snapped, the second Daenerys sat down. 

“My apologies,” she said placidly. 

Cersei suppressed a grunt of frustration. 

Clearly not wanting to waste any time, Tyrion stepped forwards, with the sort of grandiose stature that suggested he was about to make a speech. 

“We are a group of people who do not like each other,” Tyrion said. “As this recent demonstration has shown. We have suffered at each others’ hands, lost people we love at each others’ hands.”

 _Who has Daenerys lost?_ Cersei thought scornfully. _Besides one of her overgrown lizards._

“If all we wanted was more of the same, there would be no need for this gathering. We are entirely capable of waging war with each other without meeting face to face.”

_Is this all going to be one long monologue?_

“You said you had demands to make of me,” she said impatiently. “Get on with it.”

Tyrion glanced anxiously at Jon. Clearly, they hadn’t thought this through well enough. 

“These are not demands, Your Grace,” he said. “Because they are not simply for our sake. The same thing is coming for all of us: a general you can’t negotiate with, an army that doesn’t leave corpses behind on the battlefield. Lord Tyrion tells me a million people live in this city: they’re about to become a million more soldiers in the army of the dead.”

So they were back to the whole _army of the dead_ matter. 

“You keep talking about the threat beyond the wall,” she said. “I invited you here because I am willing to listen to you, but I’m not terribly convinced.”

“This is a serious matter-”

“Then tell me what you want, and stop hiding behind the guise of myths and fairytales.”

Jon sighed in frustration. “What we are asking for is a truce.”

“You would have me pull back my armies and stand down?” She leaned closer to them. “How do I know you won’t just use that chance to expand your own armies, and then march on my city when I’m at my weakest?”

“Cersei-” Jaime protested.

“I will not be played for a fool,” she snapped. 

“Your capital will be safe until the Northern threat is dealt with,” Daenerys said. “You have my word.”

“The word of a would-be usurper.”

“There is no conversation that will erase the last fifty years,” Tyrion said, his voice booming over both Cersei and Daenerys. “And we understand that you are sceptical - I was too, at first. But we do have something to show you.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows, growing more irritated by the second. “And what might that be?”

Tyrion indicated the hole in the ground, leading to the tunnels beneath the pit. A man walked up the stairs, his footsteps heavy on the ground as he lugged a massive crate up on his back. 

“Is that the Hound?” Brienne whispered. 

Cersei narrowed her eyes. “I believe so. Though I have no idea what he’s doing here.”

Grunting in pain, Clegane lowered the crate to the ground - whatever was in there, it must have been heavy, though Cersei wasn’t sure why they hadn’t just brought it in on a wagon. It all seemed a little excessive, a little too much like a distraction. 

Cersei caught Jaime and Brienne making nervous eye contact as he pulled what seemed like countless bolts and chains off the crate. 

_Get on with it,_ Cersei thought, as he eyed the crate nervously. 

“Do you remember what Tyrion said?” Jaime said suddenly, his voice filled with fear. “He said that they would prove to us that these creatures were real.”

Cersei’s eyebrows shot up. “They couldn’t possibly-”

He kicked it open, and when Cersei saw what was in there, her heart stopped in her chest. It looked like a corpse, rotting and decaying, but it was alive somehow, and its eyes glowed bright blue. 

Whatever that horrifying thing was, it was running towards her, and oh gods its _flesh_ was falling to pieces, and it was screeching like some otherworldly demon, and it was _coming towards her -_

She heard Myrcella cry out in terror, and her hand instantly went to Promise at her side. Without a second thought, the moment it stepped up onto the dais, its chains clinking and stretching as far as they went, she slashed its head off, hacking it in two and letting it fall to the ground. 

She breathed heavily as the pile of bones and rotting flesh crumpled onto the floor. Her hands were shaking - _whatever that thing is, they set it on me on purpose -_

Its eyes were still glowing. 

“Cersei,” Tyrion said hesitantly. “Is that sword made of Valyrian Steel, by any chance?” 

She frowned. “No. Wh-”

The remains of the creature reared its head, and she couldn’t restrain a cry. It couldn’t get up, but it crawled its way across the floor, back towards Sandor and Jon, still wailing like a demon. 

Brienne was gasping for breath, her own blue eyes wide. 

Sandor kept hacking at it, but even as he demolished it into pieces, it wouldn’t stop moving. 

“Mother?” she heard Tommen say, his voice shallow and quivering. 

“Kill it,” she ordered, the words coming out as a snarl. “Right now.”

Qyburn wandered aimlessly across the pit, and picked up the demon’s detached hand. Cersei’s stomach churned as its fingers wiggled in his grasp. 

“Qyburn, no-” He didn’t turn to look at her. “Put that down, come on.”

He didn’t. Instead, he pocketed it inconspicuously. 

_Oh, that’s disgusting,_ Cersei thought, but she didn’t say anything considering that no one else seemed to have noticed. 

Jon struck a torch alight, and pressed it to the body of the wight. “We can kill them by burning them,” he said, as it went up in flames and crumbled into ash. “Or by dragonglass.”

Its monstrous howling finally died down, and Cersei became aware of just how loud and shallow her breaths had become. She sat back down in her chair, her hands clammy on the armrests. 

“There is only one war that matters,” Jon said sadly. “The Great War.”

“I didn’t believe it until I saw them,” Daenerys said. “I saw them all.”

“How many?” Jaime asked. 

“A hundred thousand, at least.”

 _Shit._ She kept staring at the place where the monster had been burnt, at its remains, and her mind kept telling her _it’s not real, it’s just a fairy story, something made up to scare the children in the North,_ but she knew that wasn’t true. It was real, and right there in front of her. 

_If I didn’t want my children to face a war against Daenerys…_

She glanced over at them again, seeing Myrcella clutching Trystane’s hand as she shook, Tommen as white as a sheet. 

_They cannot live like this. I can’t let them live like this._

“Can they swim?” 

She shut her eyes in frustration as Euron’s voice cut through the tense silence. 

“No,” Jon said. 

“Good.”

He got out of his chair and began to walk away. 

“Where are you going?” Brienne said. 

“Back to the Iron Islands. And I’m taking the Iron Fleet with me.”

“What?” Cersei stood up again. “You can’t do that.”

He laughed emptily. “I bloody well can. I’ve been around the world, I’ve seen things you couldn’t imagine. But this?” He shook his head. “This is the only thing I’ve ever seen that terrifies me.”

“You’re a coward,” Cersei said. “And a traitor.”

“Maybe. But I’d rather be cowardly and alive than brave and dead.” 

He moved towards the entrance, and Cersei’s hand clamped down on the hilt of her sword again, but instead of going to leave, he walked towards Daenerys. 

“I’m going back to my island,” he said, leering over her. “You should go back to yours. When winter’s over, we’ll be the only two left alive.”

Daenerys didn’t respond to that, not even with her expression, and absurdly Cersei was pleased by her unbothered demeanor, knowing how much Euron liked to get a rise out of people. 

“Cunt,” Cersei muttered. Brienne and Jaime both raised their eyebrows in scandalised agreement.

He didn’t turn back as he walked out of the pit. 

“He’s right to be afraid,” Cersei said, once he was gone, “but a coward to run. If those things come for us, there’ll be no kingdoms to rule. Everything we suffered would have been for nothing.”

She glanced at Brienne, who nodded. 

“The crown accepts your truce,” she said, raising her voice so there was no mistaking what she had said. “Until the dead are defeated, they are the true enemy.”

Jon Snow let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“On the condition that our agreement remains as before,” she said. 

“...Our agreement?” 

Did he really not remember what his kingdom had promised her? “That the North will remain neutral, and will not ally itself with Daenerys against the crown?”

Jon frowned. “I…”

Behind him, Sansa Stark looked like she was about to be sick. 

“...Once the war is over, you will not choose sides.” She kept going, looking for some sign of recognition on his face. “The King in the North will remain in the North.”

“Just the King in the North?” Daenerys asked. “Not me.”

Cersei’s eyes flitted over to her. “I would never ask that of you. You wouldn’t agree to it, and if you did I would know you were lying.”

She glanced back at Jon. Ned Stark’s son was honourable to a fault, she knew that. 

“The King in the North, however, will presumably honour his word.”

Even if, right then, he looked as though he had forgotten it. 

He swallowed nervously. “I am true to my word, or at least I try to be. That is why I cannot give you what you ask.”

Cersei blinked in disbelief. 

“I cannot serve two queens at once, and I have already pledged myself to Daenerys of the house Targaryen.”

The sheer feeling of deflation within the Dragonpit as those words left his lips was tangible. Disappointment graced every single face before her: Tyrion, Margaery, Varys, the Hound - even Daenerys looked crestfallen. Sansa Stark looked like she was about to boil over with rage, her head in her hands and her eyes clenched shut in frustration. 

Cersei glanced at Jaime, then at Brienne, then back at Jon. “I beg your pardon?” 

“I, uh-” He looked desperately at Daenerys. “I-”

“I expected the North to honour the agreement we made,” Cersei seethed. “Was all our communication for nothing?”

Jon frowned. “Communication?” 

“Never mind.” 

“What do we do?” Jaime whispered. “What _can_ we do?” 

“I don’t know.” Cersei didn’t move her gaze from Jon Snow, trying to discern if he was simply playing the fool. 

Brienne gestured out at the pile of ash where the undead creature had been minutes before. “You saw that. We can’t just - we can’t just let that happen.”

Cersei looked back at Myrcella and Tommen, both of whom looked like they wanted nothing more than to leave. _I was a fool to let them come. I should have tried harder to protect them._

“You heard him,” Cersei muttered. “He’s sworn fealty to Daenerys. After everything we said-”

“You know,” Jaime said, “I don’t seem to remember Jon’s name on any of the correspondence.”

“What?” 

“It was all Sansa,” he said. 

Cersei’s eyes widened. _Fuck._

“I should have thought of that earlier,” she sighed. 

“Me too,” Jaime said. “But that wouldn’t have changed the fact that he’s sworn himself to Daenerys.”

“Once this Great War is over,” Cersei hissed, “we’ll be fucked. If the North has sworn allegiance to the Dragon Queen-”

Their voices had grown far too loud, the rest of the Dragonpit far too quiet. All three of them seemed to become aware of this at once, and they turned to look at the silent, incredibly judgemental, audience before them.

“We really can’t have this conversation here,” Brienne muttered. 

“Then where do you want to have it? Once they’re all gone, and we’ve got no one left to negotiate with?” Cersei said. 

Brienne thinned her lips. “We can’t just leave.”

“We could.” 

“If we don’t take the time to think this through,” Jaime said, “we’ll fuck it up even more than it already has been.”

Cersei nodded in agreement, waiting for either of them to suggest something. 

“Wh- you want me to do something?”

“You’re the queen!” Brienne hissed. 

“...True.” The rest of their guests could probably still hear them. 

She rolled her shoulders back and down, putting herself back in the frame of mind she needed for times like this. “This...betrayal from the King in the North was completely unprecedented. If you have allied yourself with Daenerys, then the conditions of our truce are completely different. For this reason, myself and my...council will need time to discuss this development. Alone.”

Jon’s face fell. “So you won’t aid us against the army of the dead?”

“I will do whatever is in the best interest of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said, rising out of her chair. “I am rather disappointed that you have chosen not to do the same.”

With that, she, Jaime and Brienne made their way back towards the Keep, as the rest of their guests watched them leave in disbelief. 

What they didn’t see, however, was how her expression melted into one of pure panic the second she turned her back on them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I tried to have the events of 7x07 condensed into one chapter, but that would have been far too long, so it's been split in two, as I didn't want to sacrifice depth for length.   
> As always, I'd love to hear your feedback! Also, this fic should be returning to a roughly weekly updating schedule now that I'm done with RTBIW


	37. The Great War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cersei, Jaime and Brienne struggle to figure out how to respond to Jon's betrayal, after finding out that he bent the knee to Daenerys, and Sansa and Tyrion are determined to ensure that the Lannisters join them in the war against the dead.

**Sansa**

The captive audience watched the Lannisters leave in complete disbelief, staring at them silently as they walked back towards the Keep. 

“...Can they do that?” Margaery said. “Can they just leave?”

“Apparently so.” 

Sansa couldn’t disguise the anger in her expression, but what Margaery might not have been able to tell was that it wasn’t directed at Jon, or Cersei, or Daenerys, but at herself. 

Because this was her fault. 

“They’ll be back,” she breathed. “Won’t they?” 

“Their children are still here,” Margaery said. “I assumed that meant-”

Her sentence was cut off by Daenerys and Tyrion storming over to Jon, who cast his eyes down to the ground in guilt. 

“I really wish you hadn’t done that,” Davos muttered, and Sansa couldn’t help but agree with him. 

_ But it’s not you who should feel ashamed, Jon. It’s me.  _ No, she was wrong to blame herself alone: Jon had sworn himself to Daenerys without telling Sansa about it, even after they’d talked about specifically  _ not  _ doing that to prevent this exact sort of thing from happening. 

They were both in the wrong, then, were equally responsible for this hellish situation. 

“I am grateful for your loyalty,” Daenerys said through gritted teeth. “But my dragon died so that we could be here.”

Margaery nudged Sansa knowingly, and the two of them crept closer to the commotion in the centre of the pit. 

“If it’s all for nothing,” Daenerys was saying, “then he died for nothing.”

“I’m glad you bent the knee to our queen,” Tyrion said, “but have you ever considered learning how to lie now and again?”

Jon turned around to face Tyrion. “I-”

His expression crumbled when he met eyes with Sansa. 

“Sansa,” he said. “I - I am so sorry.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but then he kept going, a harshness creeping into his voice. 

“Don’t,” he said. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t tell you. But I don’t want to hear it.”

“Hear what?”

“I know what you’ll have to say about Father, and how this is the attitude that got him killed. I’ve heard it all before. But I will not make promises I cannot keep. Not to anyone. Lies won’t help us in this fight.”

“And neither will refusing to make agreements with the people we need help from,” Sansa said. “Do you think Cersei cares about what lies she tells?”

“We do not have to drag ourselves down to their level,” Jon said, and Sansa bit her tongue. 

She’d always admired his honesty and good nature, but now really wasn’t the time for self-righteousness. 

“Lady Sansa,” Daenerys said, after an uncomfortable silence. “We haven’t met.”

“No,” Sansa said. “We haven’t.”

Daenerys nodded awkwardly. “And this is…”

“Margaery of the house Tyrell,” Margaery said. As anxious as the rest of her expression was, she still managed an insincere, demure smile: a force of habit, Sansa supposed. “I’m with the North as well.”

“Ah.”

“...So,” Davos said. “What do we do now?” 

“Wait for them to come back, I suppose,” Margaery said. 

“But what if they don’t?” Sansa glanced at the path they had walked down, as if expecting them to magically appear and announce that they’d decided to lend all the aid they had to the North and to forgive Jon for his betrayal. “If Cersei decides to leave us all to rot, she might not bother to come back.”

“She will.” 

All of them turned towards the voice that rang throughout the pit, looking for its source. 

Myrcella Baratheon was standing up in her chair, staring intently at the commotion before her. 

“I know you have good reason to distrust my mother,” she said. “But if she was going to deny you her help, she would have said so.”

“I’ve missed you greatly, Princess,” Tyrion said. “But I do wonder if you understand Cersei’s intentions as well as I do.”

Myrcella opened her mouth as if to argue, then closed it again. 

“It’s good to see you again, Uncle Tyrion,” she said. “Even if your loyalties have changed.”

“My loyalty is to the Seven Kingdoms,” he said. “And giving it the leader I believe it deserves.”

“We may not agree on that. But I can promise you that if she does not return soon, I will ask her to come back.”

“And how do we know we can trust you?” Daenerys said. 

Margaery glanced over at Sansa, her eyes wide and fearful. “We’re not getting anywhere,” she muttered.

“We can’t,” Tyrion said, and Sansa thinned her lips. She remembered Myrcella from her childhood, and while any memory she had of her was vastly tainted by Joffrey and Cersei’s presences, she recalled that she had always been kind to her, was nothing like her mother or brother. It seemed unfair for Tyrion and Daenerys to be so harsh towards her. 

“There’s only one way we can guarantee any kind of agreement from Cersei,” he said. “Everyone stays here, and I go and talk to my sister.”

She leaned in to Margaery’s shoulder, to whisper in her ear. “That’s hardly going to result in any sort of civil agreement.”

“I didn’t come all this way to have my Hand murdered,” Daenerys said, walking impatiently towards Tyrion. 

“If Cersei wanted me dead, she probably would have killed me by now,” Tyrion muttered, clearly trying to keep this conversation away from Sansa’s prying ears. “Let me tell you, it came extremely close when I met with her before.”

“I did this,” Jon protested. “I should go.” 

“She’ll definitely kill you,” Tyrion said bluntly. 

Tyrion was right, Jon wouldn’t be able to negotiate with Cersei at all. But then again, neither would Tyrion: he was clever, and a good politician, but any conversation with his sister would just be reduced to petty conflict. But they couldn’t just leave them to discuss it, because if Cersei turned them away with no help…it didn’t even bear thinking about. 

She fiddled restlessly with the Needle on the end of her necklace. If only there was a way they could guarantee Cersei’s cooperation, if she could watch over the proceedings somehow…

_ But there is a way,  _ she thought, the solution seeming rather obvious.  _ I can do that just as well as Tyrion can.  _

“I’m going with you,” she said impulsively, and every head in the pit snapped towards her. 

“Sansa,” Margaery said warningly. 

Tyrion shook his head. “It’s too dangerous.”

“And it isn’t dangerous for you?” she said. “We’re both taking a gamble, aren’t we?”

“This isn’t your fight,” Jon said. 

“This is about the North,” Sansa said. “I came here to represent my people, and I will do just that.” 

Daenerys sighed. “None of us should be risking it-”

“And what then?” Sansa snapped. “We just leave her to her own devices, or pray that Brienne of Tarth talks her into it?” 

Tyrion shook his head. “I-”

“You should go,” Margaery said. “Both of you, I mean.”

Sansa glanced back at Margaery. “You’re sure?”

She nodded solemnly, and lowered her voice. “My grandmother was right. If there’s anyone who can convince her, it’s you.” 

Sansa blinked in disbelief. “I…”

“I know what you’re risking,” Margaery said. “But it’s what’s best for the North. For all of the Seven Kingdoms.”

Sansa looked down at Tyrion, who still looked incredibly doubtful. 

“I welcome you to try and stop me,” she said. “Any of you.”

_ Oh, that was a big mistake,  _ she thought, the second the words left her lips.  _ Daenerys has two dragons - but it’s not as if she’s going to burn me for trying to make things right, is it? _

Tyrion only sighed. “You’ve always known what you’ve wanted.”

That felt more than a little patronising, but this wasn’t the time to argue. 

“Tyrion,” Daenerys said warningly. “If you don’t come back…”

“I know Brienne of Tarth,” Sansa said. “Her Hand. It might be anyone’s guess as to whether she can convince Cersei to help us against the dead, but I know she wouldn’t let her kill us.”

She didn’t know that. She had no idea whatsoever how good Brienne was at holding Cersei’s impulses back, or if she even wanted to do that anymore. 

“Well, then,” Daenerys said. “If you’re sure…”

“I am.”  _ No, I’m not.  _

“Be safe,” Margaery said urgently. “Please.”

“I will,” she said. “Please don’t worry about me.”

Margaery just smiled, and this time it was genuine, imbued with sadness and loving concern. 

“Right,” Tyrion said, still looking completely unsure. “We’ll, uh, try our best.”

_ Gods, I really, really hope Olenna wasn’t wrong.  _

**Cersei**

For what felt like the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, Cersei let out a sigh of frustration. “Are we sure there’s no way Jon lied about knowing what Sansa had agreed to?”

“He did look genuinely confused,” Brienne said. “I can’t imagine he’s a terribly good liar.”

“And did you see how Daenerys reacted?” Jaime noted. “She looked just as let down as you did.”

“So he wasn’t supposed to tell us,” Cersei said, thinking out loud more than anything else. “Perhaps he was just being honourable to a fault.”

“Like father, like son,” Jaime muttered knowingly. Cersei let out a laugh at that, despite herself.

“So what then?” Brienne asked. Cersei had learned from previous incidents and had sat down in order to avoid excessive pacing, and this time it seemed that Brienne had taken up the job of walking hurriedly around the table. “Say we ask Jon to retract his loyalty to Daenerys - but we wouldn’t be able to trust him then, would we...”

“Clearly the North’s divided,” Cersei said, picking up Brienne’s train of thought where it had trailed off. “Perhaps they trust him now just as little as we do.”

“Maybe,” Jaime said. “I do wonder what compelled him to bend the knee to her in the first place. Sansa made it clear that he’d agreed not to, I can’t seem to think what changed his mind.”

“Perhaps he’s fallen in love with her,” Cersei said snidely. 

Jaime chuckled. “Probably.”

Brienne stood still all of a sudden, her eyes wide.

“Brienne?” Jaime leaned forwards. “What-”

“Listen,” she whispered. She glanced over at the door. 

Cersei followed her gaze, and sure enough, she began to hear the tapping of footsteps on the cold stone of the Keep. Instantly, she bolted upright in her chair, filled with fear all of a sudden: very few people would be walking around the castle at this hour, with most important people at the meeting, and they didn’t sound like the armour-clad stomping of her guards. 

Either way, the footsteps were definitely coming in their direction, and all three of them went completely still and silent as they got louder.

“You don’t think...” Jaime whispered, but whatever he was about to speculate, it couldn’t possibly have been worse than who walked into the room right at that point. 

Cersei had half expected her insufferable brother to follow them, and if she hadn’t she certainly should have done. He always had to have the last word, to stick his nose in where it didn’t belong and make everything about him. 

But she certainly hadn’t anticipated Sansa Stark joining him.

“...Oh,” Brienne said faintly. “What…”

“I see this conversation is already well underway,” Tyrion said. 

“It is,” Cersei seethed. “And you are certainly not welcome to it.”

“Did you expect us to just leave you to it?” Tyrion scoffed. 

“Do you really think that little of us?” Jaime asked. “And here I’d thought we’d given reconciliation our best shot-” 

“Please,” Sansa said, and he closed his mouth abruptly. “We don’t have time for your trivial arguments.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. She’d forgotten about this strange, confident side to Sansa, having held her in her memory as that frightened little girl for so long. 

“Lady Sansa,” she said curiously. “Am I correct in assuming that Jon was not privy to our little agreement?”

Sansa’s eyes flickered downwards. “I’m sorry about Jon.”

“Not sorry enough to have stopped him from bending the knee to Daenerys.”

“I tried,” she seethed. “I asked him not to meet with her, I warned him not to make alliances with her. He told me he understood: clearly he didn’t.” 

Cersei tilted her head. “What are you doing here?” she asked. The question was mostly irrelevant: it wasn’t as if they didn’t have more pressing matters at hand, but Sansa’s presence here felt so strange that she needed to decipher her intentions. 

“I had to come,” Sansa said stiffly. “I know this feels like it’s about you against Daenerys, Lannisters versus Targaryens, but this is about the North. I mean, it affects all Seven Kingdoms, like Jon said, but...it’s my people who are at risk, Cersei, before yours. Before Daenerys’.”

Sansa’s eyes burned with hatred as she spoke, looking right into Cersei’s with a shaky intensity which suggested that she wanted to look away. 

She probably hoped Cersei hadn’t noticed how afraid she was. She certainly had. But there was something bubbling under the fear, that same determination she’d always had spurring her on. Even when she’d been that scared little girl, she’d still had that in her, and that hadn’t changed one bit. If she had been anyone else, Cersei might have admired her. 

“Besides, I knew you and Tyrion wouldn’t get anywhere,” she added coldly. 

“Sansa!” Tyrion protested. 

“She’s right,” Jaime said offhandedly. 

“I hope you understand,” Brienne said, “that we are in a very difficult position now. A truce will be mutually beneficial for us, but…” She huffed in frustration. “You do see how Jon and Daenerys’ alliance leaves us with even fewer options than we arrived with.”

“We want to help the North,” Jaime said. “We really do. I mean...I almost understand why Euron turned tail and ran. But if the second this ‘Great War’ Jon spoke about is over, we all just go back to fighting each other, with the North on Daenerys’ side, we honestly don’t stand a chance.”

“I take it there’s no dissuading the Dragon Queen from trying to usurp me,” Cersei said. 

“There is not,” Tyrion said. “Nor would I try to dissuade her if you asked me to.”

“You would support her so blindly? After she slaughtered thousands of our soldiers, burned people alive-”

“And you wouldn’t do the same if you had dragons?”

She pursed her lips.  _ Gods, I hate that he’s right.  _

“So what do we do?” Brienne said frantically. “I can’t see where we can go from here.”

Sansa clenched her eyes shut in frustration. “I don’t know what I can say to convince you-”

“I’m convinced,” Cersei said, tilting her head cockily in a way that hopefully masked any latent vulnerability. She was much better at masking her emotions than Sansa was. “Were it not for Jon’s betrayal, I would already have pledged my support to you and agreed to this truce. But the issue lies in what happens afterwards, and if the North intends to help the Dragon Queen to take what’s mine, to conquer my people and put them through another war, I cannot in good conscience allow that to happen.”

Sansa’s eyes slid towards Brienne, and then back to Cersei, eyebrows raised in surprise. Cersei couldn’t quite decipher what that surprise was at: perhaps it was just that Sansa didn’t see the caricature of a villain she had made Cersei out to be in her head anymore. 

_ Maybe I’m not that person anymore at all. Sansa isn’t the same as she was the last time I saw her, so why shouldn’t I have changed too?  _

Sansa was still deep in thought, pondering silently as Tyrion looked up at her. 

“Technically the North didn’t ally itself with Daenerys,” she said thoughtfully. “I didn’t even know Jon had bent the knee to her.”

Cersei’s eyes flickered towards Tyrion, who looked more than a little guilty. Clearly, he’d known about this: he must have simply expected Jon to lie. 

“I mean, most of the Northern lords didn’t even want him to meet with her, let alone swear fealty to her. It was just the dragonglass we needed, I have no idea why - anyway. My point is, this isn’t some great merging of our houses. This is just Jon, and he might be king, but that doesn’t mean we have to support his decision.”

“So you’re suggesting the North gets rid of him?” Cersei said. 

“What?” Sansa glared at her. “No, I’m not suggesting  _ that.  _ He’s a good king, he just made a badly informed decision. I just think...if I talked to him...he could maybe understand the consequences and...and we could get the rest of the Northern lords to...”

_ She doesn’t have an answer,  _ Cersei realised, with a feeling of sinking disappointment.  _ She’s grasping at straws just as much as we are.  _

Tyrion’s presence was probably limiting her, as well. She couldn’t suggest they betray Daenerys, or else word would get back to her immediately.

“I don’t know,” Sansa finally said, her voice pained and thin. “I don’t know, alright? I’m sorry, I wish I could just...but I can’t.”

Cersei had really, really hoped that the perfect solution was going to present itself. That there would be some way they could eliminate the threat of Daenerys entirely, banish her back to the East, defeat the dead and carry on as they had before. But it was becoming increasingly apparent that that just wasn’t going to happen. 

Sansa turned expectantly to Tyrion. “You’re supposed to be the clever one,” she said bitterly. “Do you have any ideas?”

He shook his head. “It would seem that we are at just as much of a stalemate as we were when we entered the Dragonpit.”

Cersei saw Brienne’s eyes flicker towards her, and she met her gaze. She got the impression that Brienne wanted to say something to her, but couldn’t do it right there and then: but there was an urgency in her wide blue eyes, a desperation. 

Next to her, Jaime put his hand on his chin and let out a long, slow exhale. The frustration in the room was stifling, almost palpable, making the air thick and stuffy. 

“You said you were convinced,” Sansa said. “I know you’re hardly a woman of your word, but we need the crown’s support in the war against the dead, or we really are fucked, and if you can’t agree to a truce and help us to stop everything we know from being destroyed, then then everything  _ will  _ be destroyed. And let’s be honest, if you don’t make peace with Daenerys for the time being, you will lose, and we all know it. I know there’s no easy way out. I know how much you probably want to say no, and to leave us to rot. But please, just...just listen to us, all of you, and help us.” 

_ So we fight and die or we submit and die,  _ she thought rather cynically; but that wasn’t right, not at all, because either way they were fighting to protect themselves, to protect the kingdom she was supposed to be queen of. And while Daenerys would certainly destroy them…

“Tell me one thing,” Cersei said. “And be honest. Is the war against the dead, this Great War...is it practically a lost cause that we’re just giving our best shot at, or do we stand a genuine chance of winning?”

That caught Sansa off guard. She took a moment to think, which honestly didn’t bode well, and put that cold panic right back into Cersei’s veins for a few seconds. 

But then she nodded. “It won’t be easy,” she said. “It will require all seven kingdoms to come together to fight against this enemy, and, honestly, a lot of people will die. But if we didn’t think we could win, we wouldn’t be here.” 

“You sound optimistic,” she said. 

“Believe me,” Sansa said, “I’m not. I’m being honest, like you asked me to.”

“Cersei,” Jaime said urgently. “Even if there’s a slim chance of us succeeding...we can’t just let the dead overrun the living.”

“I know,” she said solemnly. “I know the responsibility I have as queen, I know what I owe my subjects.”

She glanced over at Brienne again, who nodded. She hadn’t said anything to her, but it must have all been conveyed in her gaze. That this decision was final. 

“I agree to your conditions,” she said. “I will make temporary peace with Daenerys Targaryen, I will ride my armies north and join the fight against the dead.”

Sansa looked as if she was withholding the biggest sigh of relief she’d ever had. “Right,” she said, clearly trying to remain professional. 

She looked at her for a few seconds more, unblinking. 

“What?” Cersei asked. 

“You don’t have any conditions?” Sansa said. “Nothing you want us to do for you?” 

“Having a reprieve from Daenerys’ assault on my throne is all I need from this agreement,” she said. 

Tyrion didn’t look so convinced, and she didn’t blame him. It would be stupid of him not to expect something more from her, and to be perfectly honest, she was still thinking about how she could undermine Daenerys after the war was over -  _ that is, if we survive it in the first place.  _ While she made a note to continue planning her next move, it was certainly more important to think about how to defeat the enemy at hand first. 

“You’ve got that face,” Brienne said. 

“What face?”

“That  _ face,”  _ Jaime said. “What are you thinking about?” 

She didn’t look at either of them. Something had just occurred to her, something which seemed almost impossible, too big to even consider, but she  _ was  _ considering it, and the minute it came into her mind, she couldn’t let it go. 

“Cersei-”

She turned towards her guard, and Brienne fell silent. “Fetch Maester Qyburn,” she ordered, still not quite sure she wanted to do what she was about to do, but what was one more gamble after all she’d taken today? “And tell him to bring some pea soup with him.”

The guard nodded, and left hurriedly. 

“What do you want pea soup for?” Jaime asked, looking sceptically at her. “And why Qyburn-” 

“I don’t think she meant actual pea soup,” Brienne said. “I mean, unless you’re just hungry all of a sudden.”

“No, I didn’t mean  _ actual pea soup,”  _ she said, looking pointedly at Jaime. “But I don’t want that guard knowing what I’m actually asking for.” 

“And what are you actually asking for?” Tyrion asked. “We are still here, you know.”

“You can leave now,” Brienne said. “We’ll return to the meeting shortly.”

“No, stay,” Cersei said. “Please.”

Brienne and Jaime both turned to look at her, completely puzzled. 

“Are we being held hostage?” Tyrion said suddenly. 

“No!” She glared at Tyrion. “No. None of you are - I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

“What about?” 

She leaned towards the door, checking meticulously that there was no one in the hallway to overhear her. 

“Correct me if I’m wrong,” she said, looking intently at Sansa, “but the army of the dead can be killed by fire, can’t they?” 

Sansa nodded. “Yes.”

Cersei really, really hoped she wasn’t about to make a huge mistake.

She lowered her voice, and forced the tentative words out. “What about wildfire?”

Four pairs of eyes widened drastically, all focused in her direction. She glanced between them, trying to decipher what they were thinking, because none of them were saying anything. 

“Well?” she said, after the silence became too much to bear. 

“I don’t know,” Brienne said. “I didn’t expect you to say that.” 

“Jaime, how much wildfire did the Mad King place under the city?” Cersei asked. 

“...I don’t know. Enough to destroy it, I should think. That was his plan.” Jaime looked incredibly apprehensive, but there was a glimmer of something like hope in his eyes. “You want to use it as a weapon against the dead?” 

“We have enough wildfire beneath this city to kill half a million people,” Cersei said. “If we took it North with us, we could-”

“No,” Sansa said. 

“I’m sorry?”

“Think about the destruction it could cause. I can’t just let you bring such a dangerous weapon into my home knowing what it could do.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows. “Are you saying you don’t trust me with it?”

“You know I don’t trust you,” Sansa said coldly. 

Cersei turned to her right. “Brienne-”

“You seem to think that you can just use Brienne to get me to believe you.” Sansa shook her head. “You saved my life once, that doesn’t mean I trust you.”

“I saved your life once too,  _ little dove,”  _ Cersei said bitterly. “Don’t forget that. I could have killed you when you came back to King’s Landing, all those years ago.”

Sansa narrowed her eyes hesitantly. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me. Why didn’t you kill me?”

_ Oh, I really don’t have the energy or the time to explain this to you.  _ How would she even begin to tell Sansa that she’d let her live so that she could be with Margaery Tyrell without sounding like the world’s greatest idiot?

“...If you don’t mind my saying,” Tyrion interjected, clearly getting the sense that this conversation had veered too far off topic, “and while I think you’re right to be concerned, Lady Sansa, wildfire could give us a huge advantage over the dead.”

Sansa diverted her gaze away from Cersei at last, still looking puzzled.  _ That was close,  _ Cersei thought. 

“It could also be a huge disadvantage if it falls into the wrong hands. Or if it’s misused.”

“Don’t let us have control over it, then,” Jaime said. “ _ You _ can take it north with you. You can store it, decide when to use it...I don’t know, whatever you want to do. It doesn’t have to have anything more to do with us until it comes down to it.” 

Sansa frowned. “Why would you…”

“Because believe it or not, we’re not just heartless, evil, power-hungry tyrants, and  _ I  _ care about whether the Seven Kingdoms live to see summer again or not,” Jaime said, his teeth gritted. “I think you’re right to be concerned, we’re quite literally playing with fire, but would it kill you to just believe we actually care about whether our subjects live or die?” 

Tyrion and Sansa glanced at each other uncomfortably. 

“Sorry I took so long, Your Grace.”

The tension in the room was broken by Qyburn appearing in the doorway, more than a little out of breath. 

“I did what you asked of me,” he said. “But I have no idea what you wanted…”

His eyes slid towards their guests. “Are we…”

“They’re staying here,” Brienne said. “Although I’m still not quite sure what for.” 

“I’m not sure either,” Qyburn said. “But I did bring this.”

He reached into the folds of his black robe, and procured a small vial that glowed green in the afternoon sunlight. 

Jaime instinctively leaned back in his chair. “You brought-”

“Nothing will happen unless it catches on fire,” Cersei said, perhaps a little too confidently. “Right? That is how it works?”

“Yes, Your Grace.”

“Right. Um…” She looked nervously at Brienne. “I have no idea how we’re going to do this. I thought it would be best to check to see if it actually worked.”

Brienne raised her eyebrows apprehensively. “You want to-”

“I don’t want to take hundreds of barrels of wildfire north if it won’t work on the dead,” she said. “I want to be sure.”

“...Here?”

“It’s as good a place as any.”

“But the wight Jon brought is already dead,” Sansa said. “How-”

She shut her mouth and recoiled as Qyburn brought the still-squirming hand of the wight from his other pocket. 

“Oh, that is disgusting,” Brienne instantly said, putting her hand over her mouth. 

Cersei couldn’t help but grin. “I knew you’d still have it.”

Brienne glared at her. “You just let him take it?” 

“You could use that, Jaime,” Tyrion said, having shuffled back a safe distance away from the offending appendage. “An extra hand.”

“It’s the wrong one,” Jaime sighed. 

Cersei turned towards him. “You checked?” 

“Shh.” 

Cersei raised her eyebrows pointedly at him. 

“I think it would be best if everyone stood back,” Qyburn said, moving towards the table. 

Each of them stood up, hovering anxiously behind their chairs. 

“Further back,” Qyburn said, motioning the air with his hands. “I don’t want to be responsible for the deaths of the most important people in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“If it’s any consolation, I won’t be around to execute you for regicide,” Cersei snarked as they all shuffled towards the wall right at the back of the room.

Sansa went pale all of a sudden. 

“I was joking,” she said. “Can we just-”

“What are you doing?” Jaime asked, looking intently at Qyburn. He was fiddling with a string, wrapping it around the restless finger of the detached hand and stretching it across the table. 

“I don’t want to just set fire to it,” he said, not moving his eyes from the hand. “I have no idea how far the explosion could travel.” 

Cersei still wasn’t sure if this was a terrible idea, thinking suddenly that they should have waited longer, tested it more safely, consulted more people. 

But they had no idea how long they truly had. The rest of their guests were still waiting out in the Dragonpit, and who knew how long they had to go North before it was too late, or how long Daenerys would be willing to keep negotiations open before going back to raining fire and blood upon the Lannisters. They had to do this now if they were going to do it at all. 

She felt Brienne’s hand reaching out for hers, and she instantly took it, interlocking their fingers tightly as they leaned up against the wall together. 

Qyburn opened up the vial, and placed a careful few drops of the substance along the length of the hand, looking afraid to tip it over even a little too far. 

“That should suffice,” he said, more to himself than to anyone else. “Now…”

He picked up a candle and gently pressed the flame to the end of the string. Cersei felt Brienne’s clammy grip on her own hand tighten. 

“It’ll be fine,” she muttered, though she wasn’t wholly convinced herself. 

The flame travelled slowly along the string, licking it and bringing up a gentle stream of smoke - 

It hit the rotting, still-moving flesh, and Cersei instinctively raised her hands to shield herself as the earth-shattering  _ boom  _ reverberated through the room. 

Even though her eyes were squeezed so tightly shut it hurt, she could still see the flash of green. 

She blinked them open cautiously as the sound resided, to see a massive smoking crater in the middle of the table, a rather terrified Qyburn leaning against the wall - but no sign of the hand. 

_ And that was only from a few drops,  _ she thought.  _ Imagine what a whole barrel could do - then what all the barrels we have under the city could do.  _

She was still shaking from fear and shock, but for a fleeting moment she felt a flicker of victorious satisfaction in her chest. 

“Well,” Brienne said, also looking thoroughly shocked, “it works.”

“No one else can know about this,” Tyrion said decisively. “No one outside this room.”

“Not even your precious Dragon Queen?” Cersei said. “I would think you would be practically running to let her know.”

“I trust Daenerys,” he said. “But I shudder to think what she would do with this if she got her hands on it.”

_ That doesn’t sound as if you trust her one bit,  _ Cersei thought, but she bit it back. 

“This has to be a last resort,” Sansa said, her voice ragged. “We’ll transport it to the North, separate from the rest of the Lannister men, and we will only use it if we absolutely need to.”

Perhaps she was being overly cautious, but Cersei honestly didn’t blame her. Although it wasn’t as if she hadn’t been living with that wildfire beneath her city this whole time, had been familiar with the danger it presented. She’d even been tempted to use it a few times, when she was driven to fury and humiliation by the Sparrows, but she’d refrained from doing so, knowing that while the rage would subside, the destruction she caused would not. It had taken her far too long to learn that. 

“So we’re all in agreement,” Brienne said. 

Tyrion nodded. “We are.” 

The six of them walked back towards the Dragonpit in relative silence: not even Cersei, Jaime and Brienne felt relaxed enough to have the sort of easy, intimate conversation they would usually have. Cersei swore she could still smell the smoke on their clothes. 

She immediately saw Myrcella and Tommen’s heads perk up as they returned, and couldn’t help but smile despite her trepidation. 

But that momentary relief was crumpled right back into animosity when she saw Daenerys and Jon regard her.  _ Don’t look at me like that,  _ she wanted to say.  _ You’re the ones who put us in this mess in the first place.  _

But this really wasn’t the time to be antagonising anyone. 

“My armies will not stand down,” she said. “I will not pull them back to the capital.” 

The arena was completely silent once again, save for the screeching of birds in the distance. Every eye was on her. 

“Instead,” she continued, “I will march them North to fight alongside you in the Great War. The darkness is coming for us all. We will have to face it together.”

Her eyes slid towards Daenerys. “And when the Great War is over, you would do well to remember that we chose to help. With no promises or assurances from you.”

Daenerys’ eyes flickered down momentarily, and Cersei once again felt a surge of victory. 

“The rest of my Small Council will rule in my stead,” she said, turning towards Myrcella and Tommen. “I am leaving my city in good hands.”

They’d spoken about this in the aftermath of the explosion: Qyburn was more than happy to take over from Cersei while she was in the North, and to consult the rest of the Council as usual. 

And they’d agreed that Cersei would go north with Jaime and Brienne. 

“You’re not staying here?” Daenerys said. “You’re going North too.”

She said it as if she was trying to test Cersei. As if she’d said something completely absurd. 

“You lead your men into battle on the backs of your great beasts,” Cersei said. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t do the same.”

_ You could be a warrior queen or something,  _ Brienne had once said to her. It had been a mere joke, all three of them half-asleep and worn out from fucking, but it had stuck with her. The idea that she would stay in her castle while she sent her men to fight for her when neither Daenerys nor Sansa would even think about doing the same seemed absurd, now, and no one could dissuade her from her decision. Especially not Daenerys. 

And even if she couldn’t fight in the same way Jaime and Brienne could, if it was too much of a risk for her to go onto a battlefield, she would still be there, protecting her people and her family. 

It terrified her to even think about that, about there being a hundred thousand of the demon that had clawed at her mere minutes ago. But it terrified her more to think what would happen if she did nothing, if she left the fate of the Seven Kingdoms in the hands of a few northerners. 

Whatever Tyrion or Sansa or Daenerys thought of her, and however much of that was correct, she was doing the right thing, she was sure of it. She, and Jaime, and Brienne, would ensure that the kingdoms they were sworn to protect did not fall. 

**Brienne**

The day they left King’s Landing, the first snow fell on the city. 

Nothing settled: it was just a few, solitary flakes falling sadly onto the damp, muddy grass. But as the three of them stood at the end of the Kingsroad, there was no denying the turn in the weather. 

Brienne couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen snow: perhaps she never had. It had never snowed much on Tarth, even in the winter, nor did it in King’s Landing if she remembered correctly. But this winter was going to be different, or so they’d heard; colder, harsher, longer. And this was only the beginning. 

The wildfire was already being transported north, as was the Lannister army. It was only them who remained now, the last to go. 

“Well,” she said, brushing the snow out of her hair, “winter is certainly here.”

“I suppose the Starks get to say they told us so,” Jaime said, sliding a glove over his golden hand. “Though they must get to do that every winter.” 

Brienne turned towards Cersei, who was sitting a little clumsily on her horse, gripping her reins a little too tightly. She wasn’t used to long journeys like this, was more suited to the comfort of a carriage. 

But she’d been adamant that she should travel the same way as the rest of them, since travelling with the rest of the Lannister men was too dangerous. This wasn’t a royal visit like it had been the last time she and Jaime had been to Winterfell: this was a preparation for a war. 

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Cersei smiled sadly. “Not particularly. You?”

“I won’t lie,” Brienne said. “I’m absolutely terrified.”

“I wouldn’t expect anyone not to be,” Cersei said. “Jaime, are you-”

Brienne turned to look at Jaime, who was glancing over his shoulder, peering at something behind them. 

Then, he nodded and put a hand up. He was looking at the guards behind them, Brienne realised, those who would be riding a little way after them to protect them while keeping their identity secret, not giving away that they needed to  _ be  _ protected in the first place. 

“We have to go now,” he said, steadying himself on the horse. “The men up front are a safe distance now, if we don’t leave soon we won’t pass Stokeworth by nightfall.”

His voice was just as shaky as Cersei’s had been, and despite his decisive words he looked for all the world like he wanted to turn back to the Red Keep, go back to their children and their home and forget that any of this was happening. 

But they couldn’t do that. 

“Right,” Cersei said, inhaling sharply and straightening herself up. “We’d better go, then.”

A few snowflakes fell on her own hair, and she pulled the hood on her black cloak up. 

The three of them stood stationary, looking out at the road. None of them wanted to move forwards. 

_ If we don’t leave now, we never will.  _

Pushing past every nerve in her body screaming at her to stay, Brienne pulled on her horse’s reins and nudged it forwards. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cersei and Jaime do the same. 

_ Well, then,  _ she thought nervously.  _ Here we go.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! To think I was going to try and squeeze these last two chapters into one chapter. What was I thinking?   
> Anyway, as per usual I'd love to hear any thoughts and feedback you have! <3


	38. Until The End of My Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime, Brienne and Cersei stop at the Inn at the Crossroads, and are forced to come to terms with the reality of the situation in the Seven Kingdoms. An unexpected revelation from Jaime results in a turn of events Brienne could never have seen coming while on the road to Winterfell.

**Brienne**

It felt as though the sun had only just risen, but by the time they reached the inn, it was already nightfall. 

In the past week or so the winter had begun to hit in full force: the nights were endless and cold now, and she was infinitely grateful that Cersei’d had the good sense to pack extra furs for the journey. Most of their things had been sent ahead to Winterfell with the Lannister men, so they made do with what they had, shivering in the rickety beds of inns and castles along the Kingsroad, huddling each other for a little bit of warmth. 

Most of the names of the places they stayed fell into obscurity as they rode north, but when they arrived at the Inn at the Crossroads, it felt like a milestone, like a weight off Brienne’s shoulders. While they weren’t even halfway there yet, the fact that this was where so many travelers came to rest felt relieving to her somehow, like they weren’t so isolated anymore, and were making real progress on their journey. 

“Remember the last time we came here?” Jaime said, grunting as he dismounted. 

Cersei looked sadly up at the old building. “Quite frankly, I wish I didn’t.”

Brienne had no idea what they were talking about, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to ask. 

“We came here on our way back from Winterfell all those years ago,” Jaime explained. “A...well, a lot of things happened here, most of which I’d rather forget.”

“Agreed,” Cersei said. “You don’t think they’ll recognise us, do you?” 

She ran her hands through her hair, which was a little longer and choppier now. She’d long put off letting it grow out, not wanting it to look messy while it was in that awkward in-between phase, but she’d abandoned trimming it, and it had made all the difference. Brienne suspected it would at least grow to her collarbones by the time she reached Winterfell, although she wasn’t too sure how fast hair actually grew. 

“You should be fine,” Jaime said. “I mean, _I_ barely recognise you in those clothes.”

“What about you?” Brienne asked. “You don’t think they’ll...”

“As long as I keep this on-” Jaime waved the leather covering of his hand in the air - “I’ll be fine.” 

Cersei raised her eyebrows, but clearly didn’t have the energy to counteract him.

“How much gold do we have left?” Brienne asked, after making sure there was no one to overhear them. They’d come dangerously close to being robbed quite a few times before, and while they hardly had any of their usual luxuries with them, a hefty bag of gold was enough to attract robbers no matter how well they tried to hide their things. 

“Enough for a decent room,” Cersei said. “As long as they haven’t put their prices up an absurd amount in the past few years.”

“I will say, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this _economising_ business,” Jaime said, double-checking their horses were secure before they walked into the inn. “I suppose growing up on top of a literal gold mine has its faults, it doesn’t make you terribly well-adjusted.” 

Brienne chuckled, but her laugh turned into a sigh of relief the second they crossed over the threshold into the inn. The warmth from the crackling fire at the far wall enveloped her like a soft, comforting hug, and she became painfully aware of just how cold her hands had been as they started to tingle. 

It was a little busier than Brienne would have liked, but it was hardly overflowing, and not overwhelmingly noisy. 

“Can I help you?” said a cheery-looking woman sitting at a wooden desk in front of them. “You here for the night, or just to drink?”

“The night,” Cersei said, dropping the _t_ in night in a rather terrible attempt to hide her polished accent. “We’ll need a room.”

“Just the one?” The woman looked between the three of them, evidently puzzled. 

“Money’s tight,” Cersei said. “I can sleep on the floor.”

“...Right.” She squinted at Cersei, and Brienne’s heart plummeted. “You been here before?”

“No.” Cersei leaned away from the light a little. “No, we haven’t.” 

The woman shook her head. “Must just have one of those faces. That’ll be twenty dragons.” 

Brienne fished the money out of her purse, careful not to make it look like she was taking a little from a lot. “Here you go.” 

“Can I just get your name?”

“Name?” Cersei glanced sideways at Brienne. 

“I know, I know, but we get a lot of customers here, I need to keep track of ‘em.” She picked up a quill. “Just the one name is fine.”

“Melara,” Cersei said. “Melara...Hill.” 

The innkeeper scratched it down compliantly. “There you are. Up the stairs, third room on the left.”

“Thank you.”

“You know, you’re not getting any better at that,” Jaime muttered to Cersei, as they walked over to a table by the window. 

“At what?”

“The accent. It’s still terrible.”

She tapped him lightly on the arm. “You do it next time, then, if you’re so much better at it.”

“Maybe I will.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“You’re no better!” Brienne said indignantly. “And it was your idea to pose as smallfolk in the first place.”

“Oh, shit,” Cersei whispered. “Do you think I’ve given too much away by saying _Hill?_ I should have said Flowers.”

“The Westerlands is a big place,” Jaime said. “I’m sure lots of bastards there have blonde hair and green eyes, anyway.”

Cersei snickered. “You’re not wrong there.”

Brienne let out another sigh as she sat down, instantly leaning against the window. “I forgot how much nicer this place was than all the others on the Kingsroad.”

“Well, we-” Cersei glanced behind her, checking no one was listening in. “We did come here for a reason all that time ago.” 

“How long did it take to get to Winterfell then?”

“Only a month. I’m not sure if having the whole royal progression speeds you up or slows you down.”

“It shouldn’t take too much longer than that, I don’t think,” Jaime said. “We’ll be on the road four more weeks, if that.”

Cersei sighed. “Is it bad that I almost don’t want it to end?”

Brienne raised her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, I just - I hate thinking about what’s at the end of the road. I wish I could stop myself from thinking about it, just focus on getting there in the first place, but I can’t. I keep thinking...I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being ridiculous.”

“You’re allowed to be scared, Cersei,” Brienne said, placing her hand on top of hers. “You’re not being ridiculous at all.”

“That’s the worst part,” she said sadly. “Knowing that I’m not really being irrational.That all the things I think about could actually happen.” 

She folded her hands on the table and laid her head down, looking rather defeated. 

Brienne hardly knew what to say to that, because she was right. For once, no absurdity they conjured up in their minds couldn’t be true; anything could happen once they reached Winterfell, any betrayal, any tragedy, any pain. 

Jaime didn’t look any less dejected than his sister, slumped against the wall on the other side of the table. 

They were all exhausted, Brienne realised. Worn out from the road and the energy that being in a near-constant state of anticipation and fear took out of you. 

“We should get something to eat,” she said decisively, looking around for the barmaid she’d seen walking past a few moments ago. “We-”

She heard a plate smash to the floor, and whipped her head around as the whole inn fell silent.

“What did you say?” A man stood up at one of the tables across from them: he wasn’t particularly intimidating to look at, was rather short and thin, but the man he was leering down at looked positively terrified. 

“I-” The man glanced around desperately at the other inn-goers, desperately seeking help. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no.” The shorter man grabbed the front of the other’s shirt. “I want you to repeat what you just said. I want to make sure I heard you right before I kick the shit out of you.”

“I…” 

“Because what I thought I heard, was that you said Daenerys Targaryen was the one true queen of Westeros. To your little friend here.”

Brienne saw Cersei snap her head up.

“I - I only said that because-”

The shorter man punched him in the jaw, sending him flying to the floor. 

“Shit,” Jaime breathed. 

“That foreign whore has no claim to the Iron Throne,” the little man said, as the other tried to get back up again. “She-”

He kicked him in the side, eliciting another cry of pain. Some customers gasped in shock: others egged him on. 

“Listen!” a barmaid tried to shout over the noise. “Not another fucking fight - get up, and leave him alone-”

Her words got lost in the din as more people started shouting and banging their fists on the table. 

“Don’t you fucking put your hands on me, traitor,” the shorter man’s companion said, and Brienne realised amidst the confusion that it wasn’t just the first two men kicking and fighting anymore, but a few of them around those tables. 

“Traitor?” Another man laughed harshly. “I’d rather be a traitor than boot-licking Lannister scum.”

She saw blood spatter on the floor, and her stomach lurched. 

“What do we do?” Cersei’s hand was resting atop her sword, but Brienne instinctively reached out to stop her. 

“If they see our swords,” she said warningly, “they’ll know who we are.” 

Cersei’s breath caught in her throat. “Shit.”

“If we make a run for it,” Jaime all but breathed, his voice as rigid as his body was, “we can make it to our room and get out of here.”

“We can’t look like we’re escaping,” Brienne said, searching for the stairs. “Where-” 

She huffed in mounting frustration as she realised they were on the other side of the room, right next to all the commotion in the first place. 

“We can’t,” Cersei said breathily. 

“Just keep your eyes forward,” Brienne muttered, “and go quickly.”

She made a dash for it, making sure she stayed at a walking pace even though every nerve in her body was screaming at her to run as fast as she could. She desperately didn’t want them to look like they were trying to escape, even though she knew they all looked positively terrifying. 

A stool crashed to the floor, and she jumped. More barmaids were trying to get involved, to tear the men away from each other, and kick them out, but they were too enraged to be dissuaded. 

_They’re fighting over us,_ she realised with a shudder. _Over Cersei._

She’d long thought the smallfolk didn’t care who sat on the Iron Throne, but she supposed people would have their loyalties, especially in what had been a time of war until a few weeks ago. 

“Cersei Lannister isn’t going to fuck you for defending her,” a man shouted across the room. 

“How do you know?” another chuckled. “She seems like the type who’d fuck anything that moves.”

Brienne gritted her teeth as anger surged through her. 

“Staircase is blocked,” Jaime panted, and Brienne’s panic mounted even further. There were two men struggling against each other right in front of their exit, and it didn’t look like there was any getting past them. 

“Excuse me,” Brienne muttered, trying to get around the side of them, not entirely sure why she thought it would work, “can we just-”

He punched her squarely in the face.

She hardly realised what had happened until her knees were buckling and she was grasping her cheek in pain: he hadn’t hit her that hard, she should have been able to defend herself, but she hadn’t, she’d been caught off guard -

She stumbled back even further as Cersei lurched at the man, running at him immediately with gritted teeth and some sort of guttural screech coming out of her mouth. 

She reminded Brienne of the wight they’d seen, for an absurd second as she collected herself, just filled with unmitigated fury.

“Hey!” Jaime grabbed her arm, and pulled her back. “Hey. Let’s not - let’s not get involved.”

“He hit her,” she said, struggling against his grip. 

Jaime glanced at Brienne, eyes filled with panic. “Are you-”

“He just caught me off guard,” she said, still a little shaken. She patted her cheek, checking for blood. 

“Oh, and let me guess,” her assailant said, leering right in Cersei’s face. “You’re Lannister scum as well. Wouldn’t bloody question the Queen and her council of sick fucks if it killed you.”

“I don’t give two shits who sits on that ugly iron chair,” Cersei seethed. “Just let us up to our room, or I’ll knock your fucking teeth in.”

Jaime was still holding her back, but she railed against his grip, looking up at the man through the strands of hair that fell over her gleaming eyes. 

“Oh yeah?” The man glared down mockingly at her. “You and whose army?”

She did look like she could murder him right there, Brienne thought as she nursed her cheek. She hadn’t seen Cersei enraged at her full capacity since they’d been in Dorne, and she’d sliced a man in half atop a horse then. 

But she couldn’t reach for her sword, not without giving away who she was, or at least who she was in league with, and then she really didn’t stand a chance. 

“Listen to me,” Cersei said, and Brienne’s heart almost stopped as she heard her normal accent creep back into her voice. “I’ll-” 

“Out! Out!” 

Jaime let go of Cersei, and the man in their face took a horrified step back as the innkeeper walked through the commotion. 

“Listen here,” she said. “Any of you who’s laid your hands on anyone else, you get the fuck out of my inn. I run a respectable establishment here, I will not have it besmirched by you lot not being able to keep away from each others’ throats.”

The men who'd been causing the ruckus recoiled from each other, looking rather dejected, and once the inn went quiet Brienne could hear Cersei's still-heavy breathing. Her cheek still stung, but the confusion she’d been pushed into was slowly wearing off and fading away. 

“Now all of you clear off,” she said, and all too quickly the men who’d been involved in the fight slunk away, while the frightened few who’d been hiding in the corners slowly came back out to sit at their tables again. 

The innkeeper turned to Brienne. “Are you alright, m’love?” 

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’ve suffered worse.”. 

“I’m terribly sorry, all of you,” the woman said, and Cersei seemed to snap back to consciousness as Jaime nudged her gently. “This sort of thing doesn’t usually happen here, I promise.” 

“It’s quite alright,” Jaime said. “We’ll just go on up to our room now, if that’s alright. Don’t want to cause you any more trouble.”

The woman squinted at him. “Are you sure you’ve never been here before?”

“Positive,” Cersei said, motioning towards the stairs. 

Brienne could practically see it all clicking into place inside the woman’s head as she looked between the three of them. They were in better light, now, and she squinted at Cersei’s face, then at Jaime’s, then up at Brienne: and while she’d never seen Brienne before, she must have been able to put two and two together…

She recoiled in a strange combination of movements, somewhere between a bow and a stumble. “I - I’m so sorry, I didn’t-” She cast her eyes down to the floor. “I didn’t recognise you, Your-”

“Hang on,” Jaime said, glaring at the woman. “Let’s, uh...let’s not overdo it with the formalities. We are still in public.”

“Of course,” she said, still not looking up. “Of course. If I’d known, I would have-”

“But you don’t know,” Cersei said sternly. She still looked like a bit of a mess, her hair sticking up all over the place and her clothes more than a little worn out, but she was still incredibly intimidating. Regal, even. “If anyone asks you if we were here, if our names are even mentioned in passing, you keep your mouth shut. Do you understand?” 

She opened her mouth to continue with her threats, presumably to offer the woman a handsome amount of gold in exchange for her silence, but then she shut it again, turning dejectedly towards Brienne. 

“We don’t have enough on us, do we?” she sighed. 

Brienne shook her head. 

“I - you’ve been here before, and I never said a word,” the innkeeper said. “I promise that won’t change this time. You don’t have to pay me to keep me quiet, if people did I’d be the richest woman in the Seven Kingdoms.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Brienne said warmly. “We’re incredibly grateful for that.”

“And you know what they say about our family and, well, debts.” Jaime added. “They’ll be paid.”

The woman shrank back. 

“Not in a threatening way!” Brienne said. “We mean you’ll have your money. It’s not-” She sighed. “Just don’t worry about it, please.”

“Alright.” She still looked like she’d just seen a ghost. “Alright, then.”

“Now can we, uh…” Cersei nodded towards the staircase. 

“Of course, Y - of course.” The woman dipped her head in respect. 

Cersei nodded, and her lips twitched up into a small smile. “Thank you.”

That shocked the woman more than any of the fighting or veiled threats seemed to have done. 

She would probably think about this for a long time, Brienne thought, as they tentatively climbed the rickety stairs. It was still strange to her, to think that she could be a part of something so momentous: she was still adjusting to being the literal _Hand of the Queen,_ and even though she’d had the job for a considerable amount of time she still struggled to comprehend exactly what that meant. That people knew who she was, felt entitled to make claims about her and her life. 

“Well,” Cersei said, as they entered the cosy little room they’d been allocated, “that was a fucking nightmare.” 

“I had no idea people felt strongly enough about us to fight over it,” Brienne said, dropping her hefty satchel on the floor. 

Jaime sighed as he sat down on the bed - big enough for the three of them at a stretch, but looking rather unstable. “People will fight over all sorts of things. Don’t blame yourself.”

“We’re not even at war anymore,” Cersei said grimly, “and yet these things still happen.”

“To be fair, these people are still affected by the war,” Jaime said. “Their houses could be burned, their children caught in the crossfire, their villages raided. Perhaps they simply don’t know about the truce, I’ve no idea how fast news travels.”

Cersei scoffed. “If anything, they should be grateful for what we’ve done, not calling us profanities.”

“What do you think would have happened?” Brienne asked. “If they’d known, that is.”

“Oh, we would definitely be dead by now,” Jaime said grimly. 

“You think?” 

“...Yes.”

“We’d better keep it quiet, then,” Cersei said. She slumped down on the bed too, letting out a dramatic sigh as she hit the mattress. “Have we got any food left from this morning?” 

Brienne shook her head. “I think we ate it all earlier.” 

“Fuck.” She straightened out her hair, making it sit neatly around her chin again. “I suppose we could always find something later on.”

The three of them sat there for a few moments in exhausted silence. 

“You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?” Jaime said pensively. “We never did manage to get any further with the whole _wedding_ thing, did we?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Brienne said. To be frank, she’d almost forgotten about that amidst everything that had happened since. “I suppose that once we got back to King’s Landing, we had other things on our mind.” 

Jaime sighed. “I suppose that doesn’t look like it’s going to happen any time soon, now-”

“I’m sorry,” Cersei interjected. “The whole...wedding thing? What - whose wedding?” 

“Um…” Jaime glanced at Brienne in complete confusion. “Ours?” 

“You what?” Her voice became incredibly shrill as she jumped off the bed. “I’m sorry, you’re - you’re getting _married?”_

“...Yes?”

“And I didn’t know?”

Jaime met Brienne’s incredibly confused eyes. 

“I thought you told her!” Jaime said. 

“...I thought you told her!” 

“Brienne, when did I even suggest that I told her?”

“When did I?”

“Nobody told me,” Cersei all but shouted. “What - when did this happen?” 

“When we fell off that cliff,” Jaime said. 

“You proposed to Brienne while you were falling off a cliff?” 

“Not _while_ we were falling off the cliff!” Brienne said indignantly. “Afterwards.”

“That was a month ago.” Cersei looked like she was holding back some very choice words. “You’ve been engaged for a _month,_ and I was just sitting here all along not knowing that?”

“Uh…” Jaime made furtive eye contact with Brienne. “Maybe?”

“I’m so sorry, Cersei,” Brienne said. “I - we were worried this would happen, we didn’t want you to feel left out-”

“What do you mean?” Cersei said. “I-”

She glanced between Jaime and Brienne, her mouth stuck open in bewilderment. 

“Oh,” she said. “You - you think I’m angry at you because you wanted to get married without me?” 

Brienne eyed her uncomfortably. She really hadn’t been able to decipher where Cersei’s objections had come from: perhaps she had presumed that because that was what she’d feared. That Cersei would think she and Jaime were cutting her off by getting married, letting go of her hand and leaving her out. 

Cersei laughed absurdly. “I just would have liked to know, is all. I’m not actually angry, just…” She gestured vaguely. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean, you’re going to be married!” 

“Some day,” Brienne said bleakly. “We kept waiting for the right time, but now I’m worried that’s never going to come.” 

She sat down on the bed next to Jaime, and winced as she felt the mattress creak under the weight of the two of them. 

“I said...what did I say? That if I died in battle, I wanted it to be knowing that I was married to you, or something?” Jaime slumped his shoulders. “That’s probably not going to happen, now.” 

Cersei’s eyes travelled lazily between the two of them, and the right corner of her mouth began to curl up. _Oh, no._

“...Well,” Cersei said tentatively. “Now’s as good a time as any.” 

Brienne blinked a few times, trying to process what that meant. 

“...How?” she said. “I mean - not that we should - I don’t - what?” 

Cersei shrugged nonchalantly. “I’m only suggesting that if you wanted to get married, this...this isn’t such a terrible place to do it.” 

“But we don’t have a septon,” Jaime said. “We don’t-”

His sentence died: he must have realised, just as Brienne had, that he was admitting that _yes,_ he did want to get married here and now if it was at all possible, but couldn’t quite comprehend how that would happen. 

“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” he said to Brienne, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I-”

“I never wanted a big ceremony anyway,” she said, her heart thrumming instinctively at the feeling of his hand on her even through her tunic. “I mean, it would have been nice, but if it was with you...I would have married you in that cave if we could have.” 

“Really?” He looked genuinely astonished, his green eyes wide. 

“Yes,” Brienne said. “Though I’m not sure how that could actually happen.” 

“I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Cersei said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I have the power to marry whoever I want to.”

“Are you sure?” Jaime asked. 

“Well, who’s going to stop me?” She smiled warmly. “If you two want to wed each other, then I will make that happen.”

“Cersei,” Brienne said warningly. “I - I love you, I don’t want you to feel left out. If Jaime and I are married-” she said it like it was perfectly normal, but it wasn’t, her heart was in her throat and her hands were shaking with anticipation - “I don’t want you to think it means I love you any less.”

Cersei stared at her for a moment, brows furrowed in thought. 

“Brienne,” she said after a padded silence, “I - would you do me the honour of - I don’t know how to do this.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “Will you marry me?” 

Brienne felt a little bit sick all of a sudden. 

“What Jaime said about dying knowing that he had the privilege of being married to you - I feel the same.” The words poured out of Cersei quickly, like she’d been thinking them for a long time but had never quite been able to put them together until now. 

“Yes,” Brienne breathed. “Yes, yes, but - I mean, is that possible? For two women to marry each other?”

Cersei reached out to her, placing her soft, cold hand on Brienne’s cheek. 

“I would make anything possible for you,” she said. “And what has the idea of marriage as we know it ever done for any of us except bring us pain?” Her voice quivered, and now that she was closer Brienne could see that her eyes were wet with the ghost of tears. “It is within my rights to reinvent it. For all of us.”

Brienne nodded silently, any words she wanted to say replaced with pure, raw emotion swelling inside of her. She was afraid that if she tried to open her mouth she would start crying.

“Well,” Cersei said. “Shall we, uh…” 

She looked over at Jaime. “I can do you two first, if that’s…”

“So, let me get this right,” he said. “Not only are we marrying two women together, but we’re marrying one woman to two people at the same time?”

“I suppose so,” Cersei said. 

Jaime chuckled. “I dread to think what the Faith of the Seven would think of all this. But perhaps that’s the best thing about it.”

“It’s a marriage under our own faith,” Cersei said, as he came to stand next to Brienne. “It means whatever we want it to mean.” 

Brienne looked down into Jaime’s eyes, and felt her resolve break as a tear trickled down her cheek. It was boiling hot in the candlelight despite the cold night, and she felt herself sweating under her furs.

_I’m getting married,_ she thought breathlessly. _Twice._

“You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” Cersei said, looking pointedly at Jaime’s cloak. He unclasped it, his one hand shaking as it fell about his shoulders. 

Brienne turned around, and sure enough she felt its weight on her. Her hand came to meet his as she helped him with the clasp, and their fingers brushed against each other for a heart-wrenching second. 

“We stand here,” Cersei continued, “to witness the union of man and wife. One soul, one flesh, one...heart forever?”

She didn’t quite sound like she remembered what to say, but that was alright. 

“Oh, the ribbon,” she said. “Has anyone got any ribbon?” 

“I have a bit of string on me,” Jaime said, reaching into his pocket. “Uh…here you go.”

He handed it to Cersei. 

“Hold out your hands,” she instructed. They did so, and she tenderly bound their hands together. 

“In the sight of...Queen Cersei of the house Lannister, First of her Name, I bind these two souls together for eternity.” 

She unravelled the string, and placed it down on the bed. 

“Now look upon each other and say these words.” Her voice cracked again a little. “I am his, and she is mine. He. I am - sorry, I’m messing it all up.”

“It’s fine,” Brienne said, laughing nervously. “I am his, and he is mine.”

“I am hers,” Jaime said, turning towards her. “And she is mine.”

He looked just how she felt - bursting with inexplicable emotion, shock and happiness and disbelief all at once. 

“From this day until the end of my days,” they both said. 

“With this kiss,” Jaime said, his voice little more than a whisper, “I pledge my love.”

He leaned in delicately to kiss her, and the world fell away. 

Brienne heard Cersei give a little applause, and her heart melted even more. 

“We’re married,” was the first thing Jaime said when he pulled away. “We - you’re my wife.”

“I’m your wife,” she chuckled, beaming so much her mouth almost hurt. 

“Your turn,” Jaime said, turning to Cersei. “Can you marry yourself?” 

Cersei laughed. “I can do whatever I want.”

“Let’s not extend that to anything other than marriage,” Brienne said warningly. 

Cersei smiled, moving towards her to take Jaime’s place at her side. “Let’s not.” 

Brienne took Jaime’s cloak off and handed it back to him. “Do you want to - I don’t want to say be the woman, but-”

“Can I cloak you?” Cersei asked. “Sorry, it’s just - I’ve had rather enough of being _the wife_.”

Oh, of course. “Yes,” she said, perhaps a little too eagerly. “Yes, of course you can.”

She turned around again. _Am I dreaming? If I’m dreaming, I really don’t want to wake up._

“You may cloak the bride and bring her under your protection,” Cersei said, her voice lighter now that she was instructing herself. 

Her cloak was a little small on Brienne, barely coming down past her thighs when it flowed past Cersei’s shins, but it would do. 

“We are gathered here today-” she gestured at Jaime, who gave a little wave: “to celebrate the union of...I barely remember the rest.”

She grasped Brienne’s hands - both were trembling. “One heart, one flesh, one soul forever. I am hers…”

“And she is mine,” Brienne finished. 

“From this day, until the end of my days.”

Cersei grinned. “With this kiss, I pledge my love.”

For the second time that night, Brienne leaned in, and this time as Cersei’s lips met hers she shut her eyes and felt a tear trickle out, pushed out by the sheer overwhelming nature of it all, the double-edged euphoria that came with the knowledge that they were married now, both of them to her, she was someone’s and someone was hers, and not just one person but two. 

When Cersei came away, her cheek was streaked with a tear too. “Well, then,” she said, barely restraining a sniffle. “Congratulations on your marriage.”

Brienne let out an ecstatic laugh. “You too.” She turned back around to face Jaime, who also looked more than a little teary. “Gods, that’s...that’s it.”

“...Hang on a minute,” Cersei said. “Are we…” She looked at Jaime. “What are we?” 

That clearly threw Jaime for a loop. “You’re my goodsister...and my sister. I’m not quite sure how that works.”

Brienne tried to think it over, and frowned. “So you’re still siblings, but...more so? That’s strange.” 

Cersei chuckled. “Better than the other way to be _more than siblings,_ I suppose.” 

It was so strange to be reminded of that every time it was brought up, she thought as Jaime laughed. Not because it made Brienne particularly uncomfortable: it was an inalienable part of their past, just as her allegiance to Renly had been, but it just didn’t seem to carry over into how they interacted with each other now, all those years later. It was easy, for her at least, to forget that they had ever been together, but she supposed it was likely different for them. 

“I can’t quite wrap my head around it,” Brienne said. “We’re...married. That’s so strange.” 

“Oh, gods, what about names?” Jaime said. 

“I didn’t change my name when I married Robert,” Cersei said. “I don’t see why it should be any different when Brienne is married to the queen. Unless you want it to be.”

“...I’m not sure,” Brienne said. “As much as I like the sound of Brienne Lannister, I think I’d like to keep Tarth. If I can.”

“You could be ‘Of Tarth’,” Cersei said, looking at Jaime. “Jaime of Tarth. It has a nice ring to it.” 

He smirked.“I’m not sure how that would go down with the rest of the family.” 

“Nothing has to change legally for us all to be of each other,” Brienne said thoughtfully. “It doesn’t have to be written for us to be both Lannister and Tarth.”

“I like that,” Cersei said, her eyes gleaming with affection in the low light. “Being of each other, I mean. They always say that in the marriage vows, but it doesn’t feel like it. Marrying Robert felt like belonging to someone, but this...this feels like belonging _with_ someone.” She flicked away another tear. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m getting so emotional.”

“Don’t apologise,” Brienne implored. “Please. I mean, I’m...this is all so unexpected, I barely know how to deal with it.”

“Neither do I,” Jaime said. “I knew your impulsiveness would be useful one day, Cersei.”

Cersei smiled graciously, as if to say _you’re welcome._

“Now, um…” He dipped his head, looking rather embarrassed. “I know we did away with the bedding ceremony, but-”

“We absolutely did _not,”_ Cersei said. “We did that for Myrcella. That doesn’t mean anything for us.” 

Brienne glanced apprehensively at the bed in the middle of the room. “Are we sure that’s safe for the three of us? It looked like it was going to break when we all sat down on it.” 

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “I’m sure it’s survived worse. Plenty of smallfolk must come to this inn for their wedding night.”

“Yes, but they tend to be getting married to just the one person,” Cersei remarked. 

“Oh, well,” Brienne said. “We owe that poor innkeeper anyway.” 

Jaime raised his eyebrows. “Is that a challenge?” 

Brienne shrugged, feigning innocence. “I don’t know. Is it?” 

“I’m taking it as one,” Cersei said pointedly. She ran her finger under Brienne’s chin, which hit her out of nowhere and made her breath hitch a little. “We may as well get our money’s worth from this room.” 

Brienne raised her eyebrows, trying to remain a little mocking despite the thrumming of her heart. “No offence, Cersei, but you are _tiny._ If anyone breaks this bed, it’s not going to be you.”

“That is absolutely a challenge,” Cersei said, “and I refuse to interpret it any other way.” 

“Well, then,” Jaime said, and he had the nerve to _yank_ her onto the bed. 

“Fucking hell, Jaime!” Brienne said, as she hit the mattress in his arms. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

It was difficult for her to sound angry when she was still grinning like an idiot. 

“Well, none of us were expecting this,” he said, leaning in to kiss her as they both laid crumpled-up on the mattress. “We may as well make the most of it.” 

“...I’ve just realised,” Cersei said, looking urgently at Brienne. “If you’re married to the queen, then...technically, you’re Queen Consort of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

Brienne pulled away from Jaime. “Seriously?” 

Cersei nodded. 

“I didn’t even think about that.” She let out a bemused laugh. “That’s...ridiculous.” 

“Well,” Jaime said, nuzzling his head into Brienne’s shoulder, “here’s to the greatest queen the Seven Kingdoms has ever had.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Cersei said. She shrugged off her tunic, and moved towards the bed, hovering above Brienne. “Mostly because you’re right.”

As the two of them closed in on her, Brienne’s breath quickened in anticipation. “Do you want me to - what should we do?” 

“Well, I don’t know about Jaime,” Cersei said. “But I’d quite like to accept that...challenge of yours.” 

“Me too,” Jaime said, rather lasciviously, and he began to unlace his shirt. 

As they waited, Cersei trailed a lazy hand up the inside of Brienne’s thigh, and she gasped.

Cersei smirked, and pressed a kiss to the side of Brienne’s neck. “Gods, I love you.” 

Jaime leaned in to meet her lips, and Brienne closed her eyes in bliss as the two of them engulfed her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback <3


	39. The End Is Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys arrives in Winterfell, and Sansa and Margaery greet their new guests as they prepare for the war to come. However, things begin to go awry as they fear their support is dwindling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go. The final 'phase' of the story, if you will.  
> Also, I know I said I would be returning to a weekly updating schedule, but recently I've realised that's not always sustainable for me, so from here on out I'll say updates will be between weekly and bi-weekly so I don't put unnecessary pressure on myself and end up stressing myself out more than is needed. The worst deadlines are sometimes the ones we make for ourselves!  
> Anyway, enjoy.

**Sansa**

They would be here any moment now. 

Sansa and Margaery were waiting nervously atop the battlements of Winterfell, watching the masses of men march up the long road to Winterfell, to the shock and amazement of the people lining the streets of Wintertown. 

Most of the Northern lords were gathered by the East Gate, anxiously waiting for Jon’s arrival, but she and Margaery had elected to stay at the castle, watching over the proceedings from a distance. 

As the progression of people rode towards her home, she couldn’t help but be reminded of the last time there had been a royal visit to Winterfell, all those years ago, the last time her family had been together, and the stirring of that bittersweet memory formed a pit of sorrow deep within her. 

She had been a fool to trust a queen then. She would not be such a fool now. Daenerys was very different from Cersei, that much she knew, but that did not mean she could be trusted. It was a shame Jon had thought that, though she suspected he had...other reasons to place his trust in her.

It had felt like a slap in the face, when he had refused to ride North with them, and instead chose to sail with Daenerys and her allies. She knew it only meant that he could keep discussing the plans he’d made with her, and he didn’t want to risk Daenerys’ ire should he choose not to go with her, but still it felt like an admission of his loyalties. A choice, to go with her and not with his family. 

Still, it meant that she had a little while to prepare Winterfell for his and Daenerys’ arrival, as they’d managed to get there sooner. She’d been impressed with Arya and Bran’s control of Winterfell in their absence, as they’d managed to negotiate the transportation of grain to the Northern strongholds with the help of the Tyrells. Hopefully, that would improve their conditions throughout the winter: then again, Sansa had no idea how she was supposed to feed all these armies, and two dragons. She wasn’t even sure what dragons ate, and she was less sure she wanted to find out. 

“Are those the Unsullied?” Margaery said, peering down at another regiment of men coming forwards. “Gods, there’s so many of them.”

“Almost eight thousand, I think,” Sansa said. “Though I don’t think this is all of them yet.” 

Margaery nodded. “No sign of the Lannister men yet?”

“Not yet,” Sansa said. “Though I hear they’re on their way.” 

She knew exactly what that meant, and it killed her that Margaery didn’t: that those men would be bringing wildfire with them. It had been difficult, hiding things from Margaery, and she knew it would be even worse when she inevitably found out: secrets never stayed secrets long, this much she’d learned from her conflict with Arya before she’d left. All she could do was justify why it had to be a secret, and bury the map of where the wildfire would be at the bottom of her chest of drawers where Margaery wouldn’t look. 

Margaery pursed her lips. “You don’t think they’ve…”

The end of her sentence drifted into the air: perhaps she didn’t want to voice what she feared, but Sansa knew what she meant. 

“I don’t know,” she said. “But Cersei’s not stupid. If she doesn’t send her men north - seven hells, if _she_ doesn’t show up herself, after she promised she would, she knows what the consequences will be, and she’ll only have herself to blame.” 

“I hope you’re right,” Margaery said. “Oh - is that them?” 

Sansa squinted at where Margaery was pointing, and her heart thrummed. Two figures stood out on horseback from the mass of Unsullied: she couldn’t make out their faces from here, but one was in black and one was in white, and she was more than ready to guess they were Jon and Daenerys. 

“I think so,” she said. She couldn’t resist her mouth twitching into a smile: it would be a relief to be reunited with Jon properly, this time, even if his betrayal still curdled inside her. 

“When they get here,” Margaery said, “I know we’re going to call a meeting of the Northern lords, but do you think we should give them a little bit of time to settle back in, or-”

Her words were cut off by an almighty roar from the skies, followed by a cry of fear from the people watching below. Both Sansa and Margaery instinctively lurched away from the edge, the beating of the dragons’ wings in the sky striking fear into them even though they’d seen them before. 

It never became any less thrilling, Sansa thought as the majestic beasts soared over her battlements. Seeing these mythical creatures in the flesh filled her with a sense of wonder, and no matter her apprehension towards their 'mother’, she couldn’t help but laugh giddily as she watched them soar. 

“Dragons,” she breathed. “In Winterfell.” 

Margaery grinned, equally transfixed. “I still can’t quite believe it.” 

“We should probably go down,” Sansa said, still following the dragons as they glided off past the godswood and somewhere into the mountains. _I hope they don’t get lost._ “Greet our guests, that sort of thing.”

“Yeah,” Margaery said. 

“And we should probably give everyone time to adjust after...that.” As they flew out of sight, she managed to drag her eyes away and look back at Margaery. “I think the rest of the Northerners might need some space to recover.”

As they hurried down to the gates, Jon and Daenerys were just riding up to them. Sansa recognised a few other familiar faces in their procession: the Hound, Ser Davos, Daenerys’ friend with the dragon brooch, and the older man who’d accompanied her to the Dragonpit - a Mormont, if she remembered correctly. Winterfell would be very crowded for the foreseeable future.

“She’s a tad short, that Dragon Queen.” Olenna whispered to Margaery and Sansa as they snuck in at the front of the crowd. “Pretty, though. The spitting image of her mother - though you would expect that, wouldn’t you, with that family.”

“Grandmother!” Loras chided. “Please.” 

Jon came to a halt in the middle of the courtyard all of a sudden, completely still and frozen. He was looking at - _oh, of course,_ he was looking at Bran. 

He hadn’t seen him or Arya yet, had narrowly missed their return. She’d mentioned to him that they were alive at some point or another, but he hadn’t seen them in the flesh. 

But here he was. Bran. His little brother. 

The second he dismounted, he instantly reached out to him, crouching down to kiss him on the forehead and wrap him in a bone-crushing hug. 

“Look at you,” he said. “You’re a man.”

“Almost,” Bran said. “I missed you.” 

“I never thought I’d see you again.” He laughed giddily. “You’re alright?”

“I suppose.” 

Jon glanced up to see Sansa smiling down at him, and his grin widened. 

“Sansa,” he said, and he hugged her too. She nestled her face into his furs: it was so cold out there, and she’d missed his presence so much: she hadn’t forgotten what he’d done, but the thing she’d found about Jon was that she loved him even when she didn’t really _like_ him. 

Over Jon’s shoulder, she glanced across to see Daenerys glaring at her, and she instantly looked back down again. 

_I’m his sister,_ she thought irritably. _There’s nothing to be jealous of._

But that had all but confirmed it in her mind: Jon and Daenerys were together. If they weren’t, she wouldn’t look at him like that. 

“It’s lovely to see you again, Lady Stark,” Daenerys said, once she had pulled away. “I cannot thank you enough for inviting us into your home. The North is as beautiful as your brother claimed: as are you.” 

_Don’t say that to me after you looked at me like that,_ she couldn’t help but think. She was once again reminded of how Cersei had treated her when they’d first met: calling her beautiful, flashing her sickly-sweet smile as false niceties poured out of her mouth like venom. 

“Winterfell is yours, Your Grace,” she said in response. “You’ve met Lady Margaery?” 

Margaery smiled demurely. 

“Yes,” Daenerys said. “It’s lovely to see you again, too.” 

Sansa could tell that she was getting tired of pretending: for all her strength and might, she wasn’t all that accustomed to playing nice with her enemies to get what she wanted. 

“This is my grandmother,” Margaery said. “And my brother. They’re guests here, just like you.” 

Daenerys just smiled weakly. 

“We don’t have time for all this,” Bran said. His words cut through the air and made Daenerys recoil from the Tyrells. 

“The Night King has your dragon. He’s one of them now.” His voice was flat and expressionless, as it always was when he was revealing some impossible truth. “The wall has fallen. The dead march south.” 

Everyone gathered there knew about the wall already, however it didn’t stop a collective gasp coming from the crowd. Even Sansa froze in fear for a second: Bran’s revelations never failed to shock her, and this was no different. 

“Your Grace,” Margaery said. “The Night King...what does that mean, he has your dragon?” 

Daenerys gritted her teeth. “I lost one of them, while Jon was hunting a wight to show Cersei.” 

“And it’s…” Margaery didn’t look like she wanted to finish that sentence. “One of them now?” 

Daenerys nodded. “Undead.” 

A ghost stroked its cold finger down Sansa’s spine, and she shuddered. She’d known perfectly well how dangerous the Night King was, what little chance the armies of the living stood against him. 

But a dragon in the army of the dead, alongside everything else they had? That hardly bore thinking about. 

**Margaery**

As she’d expected, the meeting with the Northern lords had been rather unproductive. Daenerys’ presence seemed to have placed a divide right down those men: half of them supported her for the sake of having more men and resources to fight the army of the dead, the other half wouldn’t accept her no matter what. It had all been very frustrating, and had made the old stuffy hall feel even stuffier. 

She’d escaped to her usual vantage point over the courtyard, where she and Sansa liked to stroll and survey the people under their care, but Sansa had duties in the armouries to preside over, which meant that for now she walked the castle alone. 

The cold air was beginning to become a comfort to her: she had been in Winterfell long enough to adjust to the unfamiliar climate, long enough that she thought Highgarden would feel clammy and stifling when she returned home. 

_If_ she returned home. 

“Lady Margaery.” 

She could hardly hear the distant voice over the wind in her ears, but it shocked her anyway. 

“Tyrion,” she said, catching sight of him walking towards her. 

“I was rather hoping I’d find Lady Sansa,” Tyrion said. “I need to speak with her about...something.” 

“She did say she’d want to talk to you,” Margaery said, not moving her eyes from the courtyard. “Why is that?” 

“It’s...complicated.”

Margaery nodded knowingly. “That’s what I suspected.” 

Tyrion stood there next to her, looking out at the courtyard, too. Clearly, he wasn’t inclined to leave any time soon. 

“I will say,” he said. “I never expected to see _you_ as the Lady of Winterfell. Is it...better, than being the queen, would you say?” 

_What business is it of yours?_ “I must say, I’m a lot happier here than I was in King’s Landing. Though Lady of Winterfell is just an honorary title.” 

“Hmm,” Tyrion said. “You don’t miss being the queen?” 

“Why should I?” she said. “All my life, all I’d wanted was to be the queen, but once I got there...it didn’t feel right.” 

Perhaps it was more to do with the people - or rather, the person she ruled with as Lady of Winterfell which made it so much better than her time as Queen, but she was sure Tyrion could read between the lines enough to understand that. 

“You and Lady Stark are alike in that,” Tyrion said. “Do you know, when she was a girl, all she wanted to do was marry Joffrey and be the Queen someday.” 

“Don’t talk to me about my - about Sansa like I don’t know anything about her,” she said irritably. She wasn’t sure why Tyrion was getting on her nerves so much right then, but he was, and she couldn’t help but feel like she was being interrogated. “Just because you were-”

She cut herself off, feeling rather ashamed of thinking about Sansa and Tyrion like that. They had only been married as a formality, and Sansa had reassured her that he neither felt she owed him anything nor had ever tried to do anything with her. She remembered how they’d hardly interacted in King’s Landing even before his arrest: there was no need to think of them like that, and yet she was still far too tense around him. 

Tyrion thinned his lips. “I wouldn’t presume that at all, My Lady.”

“...How did you come to be Hand of the Queen for Daenerys?” The question came out stilted, too formal. 

He sighed. “It’s a long story.” 

“That’s what I thought you’d say.” 

Tyrion looked rather like he had something he wanted to say but was waiting for the right moment to say it. She glanced at him, trying to decipher what he could possibly want from her and why he hadn’t moved on to find Sansa, or even asked Margaery where she was. 

“You know,” he finally said, after he caught her staring at him. “I do believe the last time we spoke properly...well, it must have been at your and Joffrey’s wedding.” 

_I see._ “Yes, I suppose it must have been.” 

“Miserable affair,” he said. 

Margaery shrugged. “Not entirely.”

“I’m sure you’ll understand that it was rather difficult to explain why my wife took off from the wedding moments after the King’s murder. But I don’t suppose we ever found out who actually did it.”

His words were loaded with meaning, which she didn’t appreciate at all. 

“It was Littlefinger,” she said. “He told Sansa before he died.”

“Just Littlefinger?” 

“Do you want something from me?” she snapped, realising that in her infuration she’d given away far too much. 

“I’ve always had my theories about what happened that day. I assume Sansa doesn’t know the full story.” 

Margaery flexed her fingers in irritation. “By the time it was safe to tell her, it...never really came up. But if you’re looking for leverage over me, I doubt that being complicit in Joffrey’s murder is something she’d take a particular offence to.”

She looked back out at the courtyard, trying to tell him to leave in all but word, but he stayed, and she could feel his eyes on her. 

“My apologies, My Lady,” he said, after a short and uncomfortable silence. “I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just something I was curious about, is all.” 

She inhaled sharply. “No, it’s quite alright.”

She was far too on edge lately, and the arrival of Daenerys and her cohorts at Winterfell had done nothing to improve that. Margaery felt as though Winterfell had really begun to feel like home to her, that she belonged there, and now that all those strange people were there it was like being there for the first time again: alienated and completely out of her depth. 

“My lady?” 

Margaery turned around to see a messenger scurrying towards her. 

“My lady, have you seen Lady Stark?” His eyes were wide, and he was breathing rather heavily. 

“She’s over at the armoury,” Margaery said. “Why - are you alright?” 

He placed one shaking hand on the wall, and exhaled slowly. “Scout’s just come over the hill - the Lannister army are marching towards Winterfell. They’re just a few miles south.” 

“...Now?” 

“They’ll be at the gates shortly.” 

Margaery gritted her teeth. “Thank you,” she said. “I’ll, uh, fetch Lady Sansa at once.” 

The messenger nodded shakily, and dashed back down the walkway. 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Now there’s a surprise.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I was beginning to suspect they weren’t even coming,” he said apprehensively. “My sister isn’t exactly the most reliable of allies.”

“You’re not wrong there,” Margaery said. “I sincerely hope he meant they were marching _towards_ us, and not _at_ us.”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Tyrion said. “Has Sansa made any preparations for them?” 

“We’ve got…” Margaery sighed as she realised exactly what the Lannister armies being on their way to Winterfell entailed. “Barracks for the men, and chambers for Cersei, Jaime and Brienne. Gods, I half forgot they’d be coming too.” 

“I’m sure the Stark family can’t wait for another royal visit,” Tyrion said sarcastically. “Especially Bran. Though does he even remember what happened the last time?” 

“Bran knows everything.”

“... _What?”_

Margaery gestured vaguely with her hands. “I’m sure someone will explain it to you at some point. We, uh, we should go and find Sansa.”

Tyrion didn’t look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. “Of course.”

As they made their way into the courtyard, Margaery remembered that Tyrion had intended to find Sansa in the first place. _It’s complicated,_ he’d said, not giving her a proper response and seeming rather secretive. 

What on earth was that supposed to mean? 

**Sansa**

Sansa let out a sigh of exhaustion as she pushed open the door to their office. It had taken much longer than it should have done to relocate the Lannister men to the barracks they’d set aside from them, and while in theory they had enough space and resources to cope with them for the time being, it had been a rather chaotic process. That had only been made worse by the fact that she and Tyrion had had to covertly give orders about where the wagons filled with barrels should be stored and how carefully they should be handled, and while they’d told their men they were just filled with grain Sansa wasn’t so sure they’d sounded inconspicuous enough. 

Perhaps it would have been easier, though, if the leaders of the Lannister army had actually deigned to come with them. 

“I just don’t understand it.” Margaery paced over to her usual seat at their shared desk, practically flopping onto it as if it was her bed. “Twenty thousand odd Lannister men, and Cersei is just...nowhere to be seen.”

“Perhaps she’s realised she’ll be safer in King’s Landing, cowering under the Red Keep,” Sansa said bitterly. 

“But Jaime and Brienne weren’t there either. I…” Margaery sighed. “I trusted Brienne, you know? I genuinely thought that if we couldn’t rely on anyone else in that gods-forsaken city, we could rely on her.”

Sansa grimaced. “We’re sure we haven’t received any communication from them?” 

“Nothing.” Margaery glanced down at the pile of letters on their desk, which had once been neatly organised but was now hopelessly cluttered. “Not a word from them since we left King’s Landing.” 

Sansa sat down in her own chair and rested her forehead on her palm. “I was stupid to believe her,” she said. “I should have known better.” 

There was a knock at the door, and her mild frustration seemed to grow tenfold. 

“Who is it?” 

“...Jon.” 

She would honestly have preferred it to be the Night King at that point. At least he hadn’t put the loyalty of the whole North at risk, and at least Sansa felt comfortable with hating him, unlike Jon, where every internal criticism of his actions made her feel an unwanted stab of guilt. 

“Come in,” she said, trying to disguise any irritation in her voice. 

“A raven’s just - Margaery.” He came to a standstill as he saw her next to Sansa. “Sorry, I didn’t realise you would be here.”

“...Is there a problem?” 

Jon thinned his lips. “I just - never mind, I just expected to speak to Sansa alone.” 

“I’m sorry, do you want me to leave?” 

“No,” Sansa said. “Don’t worry, you can-”

“Actually,” Jon said, still sounding rather hesitant, “that...that might be better.” 

Margaery raised her eyebrows, like she wanted to challenge him, but she must have thought better of it. “I need to speak with my grandmother anyway.” 

She pushed past Jon on her way out, and Sansa burned with guilt and embarrassment. 

“Margaery is the Lady of Winterfell too,” Sansa protested, once she’d shut the door. “You can’t just ask her to leave.”

“That’s an-”

“Honorary title, I know. But it seems rather unfair that Margaery is expected to act like a guest even after all she’s done for you, when Daenerys Targaryen can just-” 

She shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She really hadn’t meant to go that far, but the jape had been on her tongue for hours now, and it had slipped off like it was nothing. 

“Daenerys brought us two armies and two dragons,” Jon protested. 

“And we wouldn’t be standing where we are today without Margaery. What’s your point?”

Jon stared at her in disbelief. “Do you really think we can beat the army of the dead without her? Because I don’t. And I fought them twice. It doesn’t matter who holds what title or who saved us when. It’s about saving the Seven Kingdoms, and without her we don’t stand a chance.”

 _Maybe not,_ Sansa thought. _But you can’t just expect us all to be happy about this when you didn’t ask what your people wanted._

“Don’t you have any faith in me?” 

Sansa sighed. “You know I do.”

“She’ll be a good queen. For all of us.”

She scoffed. “Just don’t mention that to Cersei.”

“Well, now it doesn’t look like I’ll get the chance to either way.” 

“I…” She dipped her head. “I don’t know what to do about that.” 

“We could always send a raven to King’s Landing?” 

_It might be best to wait a while,_ she thought. _Just a few days, in case there’s anything we’ve missed._

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “Why did you bend the knee to Daenerys?” 

Jon looked at her blankly. “What?”

“Did you do it because you wanted to protect the North? Or because you love her?” 

He clearly didn’t know how to react to that. He seemed to instinctively lean back from her at that, as if frightened by what she’d said. 

But he didn’t say anything, which told her more than it would had he given her a straight answer. 

“I suppose you’re right,” Sansa said bitterly. “You bringing her here wasn’t so different from Margaery and I after all.” 

Jon huffed. “You don’t even want to give her a chance.” 

“Forgive me for being sceptical.” She stared him down, feeling rather like she might snap at any moment. “Please just tell me what you came to tell me and go.” 

“What?” 

“I presume you didn’t just come here to be patronising-”

“Oh. Right. We’ve received a raven from Lord Glover.” He clenched his jaw. “Apparently, he and his men will remain in Deepwood Motte.” 

She blinked. “You can’t be serious.” 

Jon just shook his head. “I thought we could rely on the North to support us.” 

“Perhaps we could,” she said stiffly, “back when it was just the North they were supporting.” 

“Are you saying it’s my fault?” 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” But she had, and she scolded herself internally for letting that one out. 

It was true, though. Ever since it had been clear that Daenerys would not just be joining them in the battle against the dead but leading alongside Jon, she’d half expected loyalties to waver. 

She just hadn’t expected both the Northerners and the Lannisters to let them down. One or the other, surely, but not both, she’d thought. 

Jon shook his head and glared at her. “Forget it,” he said, and he walked away from her without another word. 

She didn’t bother to call after him as he stormed out, not even wanting to argue with him or prove her point any further. He wouldn’t be convinced, she knew that much. 

And so it seemed, neither would the rest of the North. As she sat back down in her chair and let out a hopeless sigh, she couldn’t help but feel exactly that: hopeless. Sansa had a horrible feeling that, if they couldn’t even keep their own ranks together, then surely they had very little hope of ever defeating the armies of the dead. 

If their chances had been slim before, she had no idea what they were now. 

**Cersei**

By the time they reached the gates, the sun had already set, and the sky was on the cusp of fading to black, the stars beginning to wink dimly down at them. 

Cersei had come to dread that time of night, now: she really wasn’t used to the bone-shaking chill of Northern winter nights, had never felt a cold so piercing before. She envied Brienne and Jaime, who seemed to have adapted to it much better than she had, though it wasn’t as if this was their first time traipsing through Westeros. 

It should have felt like a relief when they rode up to the silent castle, but it didn’t. It just felt like the beginning of something else, and the knowledge that anything could happen from that point on formed a lump in Cersei’s throat. 

“It’s not as if we can turn back,” she said. 

Brienne glanced at her. “What?” 

“Sorry,” she said, thinning her lips. “I was talking to myself.”

Jaime squinted up at the dimly lit silhouette of Winterfell. “Do we - what do we do?” 

“The guards are right there,” Brienne said. “They can see us, can’t they?” 

As if on cue, the guards at the gate stopped chatting to one another and glanced up at the road. 

“Hello?” the man on the left said. “Gods, not more bloody visitors - are you supposed to be here?” 

“Lady Stark said the last of them came in this afternoon,” the other remarked. “No one else was to be let in.”

“The last of them?” Cersei said. 

“Lannister men came through earlier,” he said bluntly. “So unless you’re the Queen of the bloody Seven Kingdoms-” he regarded their scruffy clothes apprehensively, “I’d suggest you leave before we make you.”

Cersei stared at them blankly, waiting for the penny to drop. 

Nothing. 

“I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” she said simply. 

For a moment the guards’ eyes widened, and she felt hopeful that they would allow them inside, but then one of them snorted, and she rolled her eyes. 

“Sansa Stark has invited me here-” she said, but then one of the guards _interrupted her._

“You, the Queen?” He guffawed. “No offense, love, but Cersei Lannister’s supposed to be the wealthiest woman in Westeros, and you lot don’t look like you could buy a loaf of bread between you.”

If they ever did get let in, she would have to kindly suggest to Sansa that they procure new guards. 

“It wouldn’t be very safe to travel looking like the wealthiest woman in Westeros, now, would it,” she said. “Now let us in, or I’ll have you both executed.” 

“Cersei!” Jaime protested. 

She threw an irritated look at him. _What did you want me to say?_

“Anyone could chop off my head,” the guard on the right said. “Doesn’t make you the queen.”

“I’m surprised no one has yet,” she hissed. 

“Listen,” Brienne said. “We’re here under the invitation of the King in the North. If you ask him to welcome us in, he’ll tell you exactly who we are.”

“Oh, and who are you supposed to be? Jaime Lannister?” The guard laughed at his own joke again, as Cersei saw Brienne shut her eyes in thinly veiled frustration. “Tell you what, if you really are the Lannisters, I’m sure you won’t mind paying us a handsome amount of gold for our-”

“Let them in.” 

A quiet, subdued voice from inside the gate cut sharply through the bellowing of the guard, and they both turned around. 

“I know who they are.” The voice sounded familiar, but Cersei couldn’t quite place it, nor could she make out the face of the figure in the dark. 

“Are you sure, m’lord?” The guard who had cruelly japed at Brienne had gone pale now, his eyes fixed somewhere between the gates and his feet. 

“I’m sure. Open the gate, if you will.” 

The guard nodded shakily, and the gates swung open with an almighty thud. 

Cersei didn’t even look at him as they rode through and into the courtyard, but she could practically feel the fear radiating off him, and suppressed a smirk. 

She hardly recognised Winterfell as the same place she’d rode into all those years ago: it was so bleak, now, the vines growing up the walls now gnarled, cracked skeletons, and the cobblestones coated in a thick, suffocating layer of snow.

But it did bring her a little relief, having made it there finally. She felt like, just for a moment, she could allow herself to stop and breathe, and when she dismounted from her horse she realised with a satisfied exhale that she wouldn’t have to get back on it the next morning. 

“It’s probably too late for them to receive us,” she said, slinging her satchel over her shoulder. “Do you think we can-” 

Her words dissipated as she caught sight of a figure just a few metres away from them. _This was the person who let us in, she realised,_ and she squinted at them to try and figure out their identity. 

“Cersei,” Jaime breathed. 

“What?” 

Jaime was looking at the figure too, and all too slowly, cold recognition washed over her. 

He was much older now, hunched over in a chair, and she couldn’t quite make out his facial features. 

But the dim torchlight flickered in his eyes momentarily, and she recognised the boy she’d watched Jaime push out of a tower all those years ago. 

“What is it?” Brienne glanced between the two of them, trying to decipher their panic. “What are you-” 

“Welcome to Winterfell,” Bran said. The mirth in his voice was audible, even though his face was expressionless. 

_I thought he was dead,_ Cersei thought. _Of all the people we’d see in Winterfell, I never expected -_

“...I’m still confused,” Brienne said. “He called you m’lord, so you must be...Brandon Stark-”

The last syllable of his name drifted away from her as she made hasty, panicked eye contact with Jaime. “Oh.”

Cersei opened her mouth to say something, but words failed her. 

“...I’m sorry,” Jaime said, and she cringed inwardly. 

“Is now really the time-” she began to mutter, but Bran’s words cut him off. 

“You weren’t,” he said. “You did it to protect yourself and your family.” 

_He’s sitting down because his legs don’t work anymore,_ Cersei realised suddenly. _Because of what we did to him._

“Well, I…” Jaime looked like he was beginning to regret opening his mouth in the first place. “I’m sorry now-” 

“What’s going on?” 

Cersei whipped her head around towards the entrance to the castle, and she huffed at the sight of Sansa Stark and Margaery Tyrell, accompanied by a few presumably useless guards, storming into the courtyard. 

“It’s almost dark,” Margaery said. “Bran, what are you doing-”

Her jaw dropped as she caught sight of the three of them at the wall. 

Sansa blinked in disbelief. “We thought you weren’t coming.

There was a hint of anger in her voice as she and Margaery marched closer. “We-”

“Your guards wouldn’t let us in,” Cersei said simply. 

“The Lannister men have arrived already, I presume,” Brienne said, clearly trying to push a calm tone into the situation. 

Margaery nodded. “They came earlier. We - we thought you’d be with them, so when you weren’t there-”

“Did it not occur to you that it might not exactly be safe for us to travel through the North where everyone can see us?” Cersei said bitterly. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly welcome in the North.” 

Sansa swallowed hesitantly. “I suppose not,” she said. 

She looked back at her guards, who had suddenly gone rigid as they’d realised who they were dealing with. 

“Escort Her Grace and her companions to their rooms,” she said. “We’ll receive them in the morning.” 

“Receive us?” Jaime said. 

“There are...a few things we need to discuss,” Sansa said. “With everyone present.”

Cersei raised her eyebrows, but elected not to question any further, because she was tired and had a feeling she was only going to alienate everyone even more if she tried to be interrogative at this point. 

The guards walked towards them and hurriedly escorted them in the general direction of the castle. Cersei felt rather like she was a prisoner being rushed from one cell to another as they were pushed forwards, which was only made worse when one of their shoulders bumped against hers and she stumbled into Jaime. 

“We’re Lady Sansa’s guests,” Jaime said. “Not her prisoners, surely.”

“Perhaps not,” the guard said gruffly. “But you’re still under her jurisdiction, so you won’t object to us keeping an eye on you.” 

_Keeping an eye on us?_ Cersei raised her eyebrows apprehensively. She made furtive eye contact with Brienne, who grimaced as if to say _We’re just going to have to deal with this._

After all, she reminded herself, there would be much worse things to deal with later on than rude guards and Bran Stark. Things that they might not come back alive from. 

She resisted the urge to reach out and clasp Brienne’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I always thought it was a shame in the show that Cersei never got to reunite or properly interact with a lot of other central characters, especially the Starks, and it felt like for such a major character in the show she ended up being quite far removed from the rest of the plot, so I'm really excited to write her interactions with those characters (although she is at a very different point in this story to how she was in season 8 of the show, aha.)  
> Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback!


	40. Before the Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their arrival at Winterfell, Cersei, Brienne and Jaime are met with distrust and suspicion from their supposed allies. Sansa struggles to make sense of the difficult political situation that undoubtedly lies after the war, and discovers that the best place to put her trust might not be where she thought it was.

**Cersei**

Well, at least the bed fit all three of them. 

Cersei had almost become used to the cramping and back pains that came with being shoved to the left edge of the bed: most taverns didn’t accommodate for three people in one bed, and while Jaime had volunteered to sleep on the floor at various points Brienne hadn’t even remotely let him, so they all made do and dealt with the aches. Perhaps if they hadn’t been going where they were, she wouldn’t have put up with it, but a few cramps were worth being able to sleep next to Brienne if she was silently thinking about how few nights she potentially had left with her. 

The Starks had provided them all with separate chambers, but all their things had been preemptively sent to Cersei’s room, the Lannister men tasked with bringing them North clearly knowing that they would all be together. So here they were, huddled in a bed that felt far too big and far too comfortable, all awake with the strained winter sunlight streaming in through the window but none of them wanting to move.

“We should probably get up,” Brienne said grimly, after a long silence. 

Jaime made some sort of non-committal sigh, his head buried in Brienne’s shoulder. 

“Come on,” Brienne said. 

“‘We’ll receive you in the morning’,” Cersei grunted mockingly. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The Starks probably want to ascertain whether we’re to be trusted,” Jaime said. “You know what they’re like.”

“We’re here,” Cersei said. “Is that not enough for them?”

“Apparently not,” Brienne said. “Now get up, both of you, because if you fall asleep again I’m in the middle and I’ll be trapped forever. Come on.”

She nudged Jaime with her shoulder, and he all but flopped onto the floor. 

Cersei sighed, and hauled herself off the mattress. 

“I hope they’re not all waiting for us down there,” Brienne said. “Are my things in the big case, or…”

“There’s another one under the bed,” Cersei said, gently taking her own emerald green dress out of her bag. “Gods, I never want to even look at that ugly smallfolk ensemble ever again.”

She’d had a few new dresses made, ones more appropriate for the Northern climate, high-necked and lined with fur to keep out the cold. She felt a little ridiculous wrapping up in so many layers, reminded of the strange, overly conservative styles of the North she’d been surprised to see the first time she travelled there, but at least it did the job and kept her warm. 

“I don’t suppose we’ll find out what happened with the, uh…” Jaime slipped his golden hand onto his stump. “The pea soup?” 

Cersei shrugged. “I just hope Sansa and Tyrion managed to take care of it. Given that Winterfell is still standing and not a pile of smouldering ash, I assume it’s just being stored somewhere.” 

“We’d better check with them,” Brienne said. “We don’t know when the fighting could start: if we don’t put it where it needs to be soon, we might end up at a disadvantage.” She paused by the rack where their three swords glistened. “Do you think bringing Oathkeeper with me would look like a horrible display of intimidation?” 

“Ooh,” Cersei hummed thoughtfully. “I didn’t even think about that.” 

She reached for her own leather sword belt, but Brienne cut her off. 

“On second thoughts,” she said, “perhaps it would be best if we...put the weapons down. I know we’re here to fight, but not with the Starks. I rather think the time for intimidation is over.” 

Cersei could have grumbled, but instead she kept her mouth shut, mostly because Brienne seemed to be right. No matter how much she wanted to smugly glare in the face of the Starks and show them that she was so much better than who they thought she was, she knew doing exactly that would only further give them cause to antagonise her. 

Also, being nice and cooperative would probably infuriate both the Starks and Daenerys beyond measure, and nothing would make her more gleeful with pride than the look of swallowed remarks and silent, burning anger as the evil, corrupt Lannisters were perfectly nice and cooperative and gave them no reason to be spiteful towards them. 

“Well.” Jaime wrapped his cloak around his shoulders. “Let’s get this over with.”

As Cersei had expected, the Starks and all their friends were impatiently waiting for them in the Great Hall, all sat quietly at the table glaring at the double doors in front of them. She could practically feel them exhale as the three of them walked in, their footsteps impossibly loud in the stifling quiet. 

She instantly noticed that Margaery and Daenerys were both sitting at the high table, along with Sansa and Jon and a few other faces she didn’t recognise. That made her wince a little: she’d almost forgotten about Jon bending the knee to Daenerys, and that brought back the uncomfortable memory that if there was an _after the war,_ it would be fraught with complications, and they might all end up right back where they started. 

But Sansa didn’t look too pleased about Daenerys’ presence either, so that was some small consolation. 

“You’re late,” Daenerys deadpanned. 

“In all fairness,” Jaime said. “It is still the morning.” 

Daenerys just raised her eyebrows and stared him down. “When I was a child, my brother would tell me a bedtime story. About the man who murdered our father.” 

“Don’t,” Cersei heard Jaime whisper shakily. 

“Who stabbed him in the back and cut his throat,” she continued. “Who sat down on the Iron Throne and watched as his blood poured onto the floor-”

“That’s enough,” Brienne shouted, and Daenerys shut her mouth. “After all we’ve suffered at each others’ hands, do we really need to resort to petty mockery?” 

Surprisingly, Tyrion seemed to nod in agreement. 

“You’re the woman who tried to kill Drogon,” Daenerys said softly. 

“And you’re the woman who tried to burn Jaime and I alive,” Brienne retorted. “We have called a truce for a reason. Please.”

Cersei suppressed a grin at the flicker of pride that always seemed to make its way through her when Brienne stood up for herself. 

“Lady Stark,” she said calmly. “You said there were matters we needed to discuss. What might those be?” 

Sansa took a deep breath. “We received your men yesterday. Twenty thousand of them?” 

“That’s how many we sent,” Jaime said, his voice still quivering a little, presumably from Daenerys bringing up a rather traumatic memory.

What right did she think she had to mock them? She should have been thanking them for deigning to offer their help, even after the North refused to keep its promise.

“And Ser Jaime - you will lead them?” 

“Lady Brienne and I have led them into battle together before,” he said. “We will do so again.” 

Daenerys glanced over at Tyrion. “And you trust your brother to do so?” 

“ _Trust_ him?” Cersei said. “What do you think we’re going to do? Betray you for the army of the dead? Lady Targaryen-”

“ _Lady Targaryen?”_

If only she could breathe fire like her dragons could, Cersei thought mirthfully. Winterfell would have burned to cinders by now. 

“You are not my queen,” Cersei said, keeping her voice perfectly level. “And I am not yours. You seem to expect both so much and yet so little of me.” 

“ _Anyway,”_ Sansa said irritably. “Lady Brienne, Ser Jaime, you’ll be leading the Lannister men - what about you, Your - Lady...Cersei?”

“...What do you mean, what about me?”

“I…” Sansa glanced at Margaery momentarily, her voice faltering. “You won’t have any part in the fighting?” 

“Oh.” Cersei chuckled a little, despite herself. “No, you’re right. Killing one wight hardly makes me an accomplished swordswoman.” 

“Besides,” Brienne said. “It would be too much of a risk either way.” 

Cersei glanced back to look at her. “You think I’d have a chance of surviving?” 

“You’ve been doing this for years now,” Brienne said. 

“They’re _dead men,”_ Cersei said. “I wouldn’t last five minutes.” 

“I’ve had about as much experience as you with this hand,” Jaime retorted, wiggling the fingers of his left hand. 

“Yes, but you’re…taller.”

“Taller?” 

Tyrion coughed pointedly, and Jaime snapped his head back to face him. 

Cersei winced as she turned back around, reminded that the atmosphere of this meeting was very different to those the three of them were accustomed to back in King’s Landing. “My apologies,” she said demurely. “But my answer is no, Lady Sansa. I will remain here for the duration of the battle. But I will do everything in my power to aid my forces and ensure our victory over the dead.” 

“...You killed a wight?” 

A voice cut through the stuffy silence, and Cersei whipped her head towards its source. 

A girl around Myrcella’s age glared at her from atop the table, her brow furrowed in hatred and her eyes burning into Cersei’s. 

“Sorry, who are you?” 

“My name is Arya Stark.” 

_...Oh._

“You don’t remember me?” She quirked an eyebrow coldly. 

Cersei regarded her apprehensively. “No, I remember you. Boisterous little girl, weren’t you. Always running about the Red Keep, poking her nose where it shouldn’t be.”

She could practically feel the anger coming off her in waves, even from such a distance. Cersei knew that feeling all too well: she was almost inclined to empathise with the Stark girl, if she cared enough to do so. 

The corner of Arya’s mouth twitched upwards: another expression Cersei was far too familiar with. “Perhaps I shouldn’t be so surprised to hear you’re a swordswoman now. You always did seem like the killing type-”

“Arya,” Sansa muttered urgently. “Stop.” 

“-Though I see you’ve come unarmed.” The Stark girl didn’t even offer her sister a glance. 

“I didn’t bring my sword with me,” Cersei said bitterly, “because my Hand advised me not to. And unlike some, I am capable of listening to those I have employed to advise me.” 

She looked pointedly at Jon. Unsurprisingly, Sansa seemed to raise her eyebrows in agreement. 

“But I did kill a wight,” Cersei said. “Or would have done, if my sword had been made of the right material. Though I don’t suppose you’d be particularly impressed by that.” 

Arya just hardened her glare. _I’m not afraid of you,_ she seemed to be trying to say, but Cersei knew that wasn’t true. 

“Anyway,” Brienne said. “I take it our men have all the resources they need for the time being?” 

Sansa nodded. “Thanks to the assistance of the Tyrells, we have enough food to maintain both the Lannister and Targaryen forces.”

Margaery seemed to restrain a little smile, and Cersei’s blood curdled again. 

“I’m sorry, is there a problem?” Jaime’s voice dragged Cersei’s attention away from Margaery and back towards Daenerys, who seemed to be whispering something to Tyrion. “If you have something to discuss in private, surely you can do so after this meeting is over.” 

“My queen was simply expressing her doubts,” Tyrion said. “About the degree of trust we have-”

“ _Tyrion,”_ Daenerys seethed. 

“He’s right,” Tyrion implored. “Honesty is important.”

 _Ironic,_ Cersei thought, _considering you’re keeping a rather significant secret from her. Though I do wonder if you haven’t broken your promise and told her about the wildfire anyway._

Daenerys shuffled around in her chair to face Cersei, eyebrows still furrowed intensely. “You will understand why I’m rather hesitant to trust you.”

_It’s not me you need to worry about trusting._

“Of course,” Cersei said, and she could _see_ that the calm tone of her voice was grating on Daenerys more than any outward aggression could have done. “You will understand that I don’t trust you either. But unlike you, I am willing to make certain concessions in order to ensure I actually have a kingdom left to rule over.”

“Your Grace,” Margaery said, and Daenerys whipped her head towards her so fast her mass of white-blonde hair ended up being flicked in Jon’s face. 

“We have invited both you and the Lannisters here under the same assumption,” she said. “That we can put aside our differences for the time being and trust that we can work together to protect the Seven Kingdoms. Surely you of all people can understand that.”

Margaery was playing the same game as Cersei, she realised. Being nice to the point of irritation. That had always been a favourite tactic of hers, which in turn had always made Cersei’s skin crawl. For once, she was grateful that it worked so well. 

“And what about after the war?” Daenerys said irritably. “What preparations do we have for then?” 

“We can make preparations for _after the war_ when we know there will be an _after_ to speak of,” Cersei said coldly. “Until then, I think we have more important things to focus on. Wouldn’t you agree?” 

By the time they made it out into the courtyard, the sky was already that pale, sickly blue colour which hinted at the imminent darkness. The days had felt short back in King’s Landing: at this point, and this far north, daylight seemed to be a mere flicker in the endless night. 

Winterfell had become a cacophony of clashing swords and hammers, everyone preparing for the war to come and either training or preparing weapons for the battle. Cersei had never been on a battlefield, but she imagined the sound wasn’t far off from this. 

“Sansa said there’s some space behind the armoury where anyone can practise,” Brienne said. “I haven’t swung a sword in so long I almost worry I’ve forgotten how to do it.”

“It...might have been an idea to keep that up,” Jaime said. “All things considered. 

“We had other things to worry about.” Cersei said. “We-” 

She heard a sputtering sound, and a thick glob of spit landed right next to her feet in the snow. 

Instantly, she looked up, to see two men standing on the walkway looking over them, staring down at them in disgust. 

She met eyes with one of them, feeling her teeth clench together. 

“Lannister scum,” he shouted. 

“Brotherfucking bitch!” his companion roared in agreement. 

_I’m sure someone said something similar to me when the High Sparrow forced me to walk naked through the streets of King’s Landing,_ she thought, as her breath hitched in her throat. 

That look in their eyes was the same, the contemptuous glee that came with having the momentary power to mock the queen, the glint which told her exactly what they thought about her and made her feel completely powerless. Even though she knew she was worth a thousand of them, they could still make her feel like she was nothing with just one look, make the world around her feel shaky and blurry all of a sudden…

She heard herself laugh, a hollow and callous sound. They were still looking at her, but as she slowly came back to herself she threw them a burning glare, which made both of them falter and glance at each other in sudden terror. 

She continued to laugh as her hand went to the pommel of her sword, not entirely sure what she was doing but able to tell that it was working and that the blood seemed to be rapidly draining from the men’s faces. 

The taller one tapped his companion anxiously on the shoulder, and the two of them dashed down the walkway. She made sure not to take her eyes off them as they ran, knowing full well they would be able to feel her gaze on them after they were long gone. She’d been told her glares had that effect. 

“I’m sorry,” Brienne said, placing a hand on Cersei’s shoulder. “They should have a little bit of respect.”

“They respect me enough to run when I look their way,” she said coldly. “Perhaps respect and fear aren’t so different after all.” 

“That’s an interesting theory.” 

Any voice which wasn’t Brienne or Jaime seemed to be enough to irritate her these days. But that particular voice made her throw her head back and sigh in irritation as she turned around. 

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “Am I not allowed to speak with my siblings?” 

“Ignore her,” Jaime said. “Please.” 

“I am terribly sorry about the, uh…” He motioned towards the snow. 

“The blatant lack of courtesy?” Cersei seethed. “I wouldn’t worry. Not all of it’s your fault.” 

“Daenerys is…” He threw his hands up. “I think she’s rather out of her element.” 

“How do the people of the North feel about their new Queen?” Jaime asked. 

Tyrion said nothing. 

“I take it that means not very well,” Brienne said. 

“It is lovely to see you again, Lady Brienne. I only wish I could have got to know you better, you seem like a wonderful person. Which makes me wonder what my _dear_ siblings ever did to deserve you.” 

“I wonder that every day,” Jaime said, as the corners of Brienne’s mouth twitched up.

 _She’s his goodsister now,_ Cersei realised. _He simply doesn’t know it yet._

“But if it’s any consolation,” Tyrion said. “The people here don’t seem to like me much either.”

Cersei snickered. “It seems no matter what we do, the family name obscures everything else.”

“And what a name it is,” Tyrion said. “Are you going to the armoury? There are a few things I think we need to...discuss.” 

“Ah,” Brienne said, as they began to walk. “The - I really don’t want to keep calling it pea soup, Cersei, that’s a stupid name.”

“Qyburn came up with it, not me!” 

“Either way, it’s...that’s irrelevant. You know what I mean.” 

“We received the barrels yesterday,” Tyrion said. “There was much more than I expected. The Mad King really didn’t want to take any precautions, did he?” 

“Do you think his daughter’s any different?” Jaime asked. “Honestly.” 

Tyrion took a deep breath. “I won’t lie. She can be a liability sometimes.” 

Cersei scoffed. 

“But I do believe she would be a good and just ruler. And she’s not _mad_.” 

“I see,” Cersei said. “And that would make me the brutal, deranged tyrant likely to slaughter an entire city on a whim?” She looked at her brother pointedly. “Is that how you see me?” 

“Do you see yourself as a good person?”

“Well, that’s a stupid question if I ever heard one,” Cersei said. “So what happened with the...green....stuff?” 

“Stuff?” 

“Stuff.” 

“It’s being relocated as we speak,” Tyrion said. “Sansa and I devised a plan of sorts for it, based on what your Maester sent - and Jon's plans, of course. We are aware that-"

“Anyone could overhear us,” Brienne said. 

“I can barely overhear us with all this clanging and hacking,” Jaime said. 

Brienne shrugged, as if to say _fair enough._

“Sansa insists it remain a last resort, and I can't help but agree with her." Tyrion thinned his lips in dismay. "The number of men we could lose if it goes off too quickly is...massive. We can't afford to lose so many. There will be scouts waiting for the command to set off the triggers if the time comes.”

“And what about your Queen?” Cersei said bitterly. “What does she think about our plan?” 

Tyrion stopped in his tracks. “Do you really expect so little of me?” 

“Do you really want me to answer that?” 

He rolled his eyes. “I did as we agreed, and I believe Lady Sansa has done the same.” 

“What about Margaery Tyrell?” Brienne noted. “They seem to be very close friends, are you sure she hasn’t told her?” 

Tyrion shook his head. “I know she hasn’t.” 

Cersei scoffed. “Very good friends?” 

“What?”

“You don’t know?” 

“Know what?” Jaime asked. 

She sighed exasperatedly. “And here I thought it was common knowledge.” 

Brienne’s eyes widened. “You don’t mean - Sansa and Margaery?” 

Cersei nodded. 

“...You know what, that makes a lot of sense,” Brienne said. “Margaery did once tell me...I mean, it’s not important, but...well. I feel like I should have realised that before.” 

“Am I the only one who didn’t see that coming?” Jaime said. “I would never have guessed.” 

Cersei chuckled. “No, I wouldn’t expect you to have a sense for this sort of thing.”

Jaime smiled wryly. “Tyrion, did you-”

He turned around to look at him, but he had gone. 

“Seriously?” Jaime said. “I didn’t even see him go.” 

“He must have been sick of us already,” Cersei said. “Though he hardly seems to be the first person here to feel that way.” 

“Do we do that?” Brienne said. “What we did in the Great Hall - do we just forget that other people exist?” 

“Definitely,” Jaime said. “I think everyone back in King’s Landing has just sort of...realised they’ll have to grin and bear it.”

Brienne chuckled. “I hope we’re not too annoying.” 

They turned the corner to the wide, open space being used as a sparring yard, and the second they did Cersei once again felt the judgemental gazes of those already training on her. 

It had been far too easy to forget how it felt to be perceived as the queen when she had been in disguise, and now she was back in her fineries she constantly had to remind herself that people would know who she was, and that this far north they would hardly try to disguise their vitriol towards her. 

At least no one spat at them this time.

“Ignore them,” Brienne implored. “Did you - I’m not being funny, but if you’re going to practise with us-”

“ _Brienne,”_ Cersei said. “If this is about my clothes, I can guarantee you I’ve fought you in far more uncomfortable garments than this.” 

“I’ll never understand that. You do _own_ more practical clothes.” 

Jaime tutted. “When have you ever known Cersei to opt for practicality?”

“You have a golden hand!” Cersei retorted. 

“Which you had made for me!”

“Which you kept!”

Brienne rolled her eyes. “Do you want to get any practise in, or not?” 

She unsheathed Oathkeeper, and although the light was faint the steel of her blade still seemed to glow. 

“I suppose we’re lucky,” Jaime said, pulling out Widow’s Wail. “Most of these men will probably have to get new swords for the war.” He winced. “I suppose we have our father to thank for that.” 

Cersei scoffed. “So how do you want to do this? One against two?” 

Brienne nodded. 

_Gods, I wish Daenerys were watching this,_ Cersei thought, as she leaned her weight onto her back foot and gripped the pommel of her sword. _Or Arya Stark. Or Tyrion._

Brienne lunged at her, and Cersei deflected it, taking a measured step forwards and forcing Brienne to shuffle back as she swung her sword again. 

“Don’t - _ugh -_ go easy on me,” she grunted, the metal of her sword clanging harshly against Jaime’s as she tried to get closer to him. “Dead men won’t.”

“Dead men also won’t stop to chat,” Jaime said. “So keep your wits about you.” 

Cersei took that as a signal to duck behind Brienne and lunge at her from there, catching her off guard. Thankfully, Brienne’s astute senses caught the swinging of her sword just in time, and she whipped around to deflect Cersei’s lunge, but she hit her with just a little more force than she usually would have, and -

Cersei went stumbling to the ground, falling backwards onto the snow. 

“I’m so sorry!” Brienne said, as Cersei scrambled to uncrumple herself. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you coming, I didn’t mean to hit you so hard-”

“It’s fine,” Cersei said, dusting off the thin layer of snow collecting on her skirt. “Like you said, dead men won’t show you any restraint.” 

Brienne extended her hand, and Cersei took it, allowing herself to be pulled to her feet. 

“If anything, I’m impressed,” she said. “Though I suppose they don’t call you the greatest swordswoman in the Seven Kingdoms for nothing.” 

“No one calls me that,” Brienne said. They were far too close to one another now, Brienne’s hand still on Cersei’s lower back keeping her steady and her mouth dangerously close to Cersei’s as she leaned down to look at her. 

“We do,” Cersei said. “And I think that counts for rather a lot-”

“Y - Your Grace?” 

Cersei pulled away from Brienne to see a petrified-looking messenger running towards them. 

“I’m so sorry, Your Grace,” he panted, keeping his eyes on the ground. “I - Lady Stark sent me.”

“Well, what did she want?” 

“She wants to speak with you, Your Grace.” He looked up at her, then back down again frantically. “I’m not sure what about, but-” 

“Just me?” she asked.

“I think so. Your Grace.” 

She glanced anxiously over her shoulder at Jaime, who just shrugged. 

Cersei sighed. “You two carry on without me.” 

She sheathed Promise, and the messenger gasped audibly. 

“Will you be alright?” Brienne asked. 

“I’ll be _fine,”_ Cersei said, although she wasn’t completely convinced. “I’ll come back here when I’m done.” 

Brienne nodded, and turned back to Jaime, who instantly raised his sword over his head. 

Cersei looked down at the messenger expectantly. 

“Well, I don’t know where anything is in Winterfell,” she said coldly. 

“...Would you like me to escort you, Your Grace?” 

“That would be preferable.” 

He looked as if he was going to be sick. 

**Sansa**

“I do hope she doesn’t eat that poor boy alive,” Margaery said. “He’s so jumpy.” 

Sansa sighed, and leaned back in her chair. “At least Cersei doesn’t actually have beasts that _can_ eat you alive.” 

Margaery chuckled in agreement, before glancing back down at their desk. “So you think we’ve completely lost the Glovers, then.” 

“I don’t see how we can get them back at this point,” Sansa said. “But they wouldn’t add a great deal of men to our forces anyway, and-” 

There was a sharp knock at the door, and Sansa jumped. 

“That’ll be her,” she muttered distastefully. 

Margaery turned towards the door. “Come in?” 

The door slammed open, and Daenerys walked in precariously. 

“Lady Stark,” she said demurely. “Thank you so much for inviting me to speak with you.” 

She was doing that fake little half-smile Margaery did, except she wasn’t nearly as good at it. 

“Please, sit,” Margaery said. 

Daenerys peered at her as she took her seat on the other side of the table. “You’re a southern girl, aren’t you?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Do you find the North accommodating?” 

Margaery smiled. “Not at first. But you’ll adjust quickly, I’m sure of it.” 

“I’m terribly sorry about Cersei,” Sansa said. “She can be...well, in all honesty, she can be much worse than that, but she should have shown you more respect.”

Daenerys’ smile wavered. “Yes, Cersei. I was afraid you might want to speak about her.” 

“What do you mean?” 

She grimaced. “Our families have an uncomfortable history. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” 

_Don’t talk to me like I’m a child,_ Sansa thought irritably. 

“So do the Starks and the Lannisters,” Sansa said. “And the Lannisters and the Tyrells. The whole point of this was to set aside that uncomfortable history and work together. I’m sure _you’re_ aware of that.” 

Daenerys must have been able to tell that she was losing them. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said, forcing a smile again. “It’s an awful thing to share, a history like that. Though I suppose it’s not the only thing we all have in common.”

“No?” Margaery said. 

“We all know how it feels to lead people who aren’t inclined to accept a woman’s rule,” she said. “And done a good job of it, from what I can tell.” 

Sansa smiled affably, pretending to be flattered by the compliment. 

“And yet we seem to be at odds with one another. Why is that?” 

Sansa could think of a lot of reasons why they were at odds with one another, most of which at this point seemed to be Daenerys’ fault. 

“I suppose it’s just unfortunate that we’ve been placed on opposing sides like this,” Margaery said. “But this is an opportunity for that to change, should we want to take it.” 

Daenerys grimaced, and turned back to Sansa. “I fear it has more to do with your brother.”

_Oh?_

“Well, he loves you,” Sansa said. “You know that.”

“Does that bother you?” 

“Men do stupid things for women,” she said. _So do women, on occasion. But there isn’t a stupid thing I’ve done for Margaery that hasn’t turned out for the best._ “They’re easily manipulated.”

Sansa heard Margaery give a little scoff, but if Daenerys picked up on it she didn’t show it. 

“Listen,” Daenerys said, sounding rather exasperated. “For so long I’ve had one goal. The Iron Throne. I want to take it back from the people who destroyed my family and almost destroyed yours - and yours too, from what I hear, Lady Margaery. My war was against them, until I met Jon.” Her voice softened a little, and while Sansa doubted her sincerity in all of this, she had a feeling she was being truthful in that, at least. “Now I’m here, half a world away, fighting Jon’s war alongside my old enemies. If anyone was manipulated, it was me.” She gave a little laugh after that. 

“We are so grateful for everything you’ve brought us,” Margaery said. “Your armies, your dragons - I don’t think we would stand a chance without you.”

“Yes,” Sansa said. “Perhaps I should have thanked you sooner.” 

But there was one glaring doubt that stuck out to her, and she wasn’t sure if Margaery had picked up on it yet. 

“What happens afterwards?” Sansa said, trying to keep the tone of her voice level. “If we defeat the dead...what happens then?” 

“I take the Iron Throne.”

“....But Cersei-”

“Don’t worry about her,” Daenerys said warmly. “Jon has bent the knee to me, and she knows that. She also knows she can’t win the war, so she’ll surrender if she’s clever, or die if not.”

Margaery glanced anxiously at her. The penny must have dropped, and Sansa returned the furtive look. 

“What about the North?” Sansa said. 

Daenerys’ smile faded. 

“It was taken from us,” she continued. “We took it back, and we said we’d never bow to anyone ever again. What happens to us, then, when you win the war?”

Daenerys struggled for an answer. “I…” She sighed. “Jon warned me you’d want to know about this.” 

“I’m the Lady of Winterfell. I have the right to know.” 

“When I am queen,” Daenerys said, “I will be queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

“How will you ensure their support?” Margaery said. “You’re a usurper.”

“I am the rightful heir to the throne-” she seethed, but Margaery cut her off. 

“Very few people who have sat on that throne were the rightful heir,” she said. “Blood alone does not make you worthy. Now don’t get me wrong, I hate Cersei Lannister. She manipulated her children to claim the throne, and no one like her should have that much power. But people have accepted her as queen, and they don’t remember your father fondly. You have dragons, you have the Dothraki - fine. But you’re going to have to make concessions if you want power.” 

“Are you threatening me?”

“No.” She leaned in closer. “I’m being honest with you. Because I’ve been the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, and it’s not easy to get there. I had to-”

She shut her mouth. “That’s not important. But you need to be realistic.”

“I am being realistic,” Daenerys said. “Jon bent the knee-”

“Against the will of his people,” Sansa said. “The North loves him, but even they’re unsure of his decision. What are you going to do to convince them?” 

Daenerys was silent for a long time, her eyes fixed on the table and averting the gazes of both Sansa and Margaery. “I-”

There was a booming knock on the door, which made all three of them jump. 

Sansa cringed. _Please don’t let that be who I think it is._

“Who is it?” she said. 

“You’re the one who invited me to speak with you,” Cersei said, her voice acrid and hostile from the other side of the door. “Don’t act so surprised.”

Daenerys glared up at her. “You invited Cersei Lannister-”

“I am the Lady of Winterfell,” Sansa said. “It is my duty to speak with our guests.”

Daenerys pursed her lips, her eyes burning with a fury hotter than anything her dragons could have breathed. “If you breathe a word-” 

“I’m not stupid,” Sansa said. 

“Should I leave and come back later?” Cersei’s voice was dripping with sarcasm. 

“Come in,” Sansa said, and Daenerys huffed. 

“Lady Lannister,” she said apprehensively, as she got up from her seat. 

“How nice to see you again,” Cersei said. “Now please get out of here.” 

“You don’t command me.”

“I’m not commanding you. I’m asking you.” Cersei glared at her. 

Daenerys sighed, then walked away, looking rather like a petulant child. 

_Her hair has grown,_ Sansa thought, which was a stupid thing to notice. _It almost looks how Jaime’s did when they came here the first time._

She pursed her lips as she was reminded of exactly what had happened then. Cersei was still the enemy: she wasn’t even the lesser of two evils here. But she wasn’t Daenerys, and for now that was enough to calm Sansa down incrementally.

“There’s a rather traumatised-looking messenger boy outside that door,” Cersei said, nodding her head in his general direction. “Is that anything to do with you, or…” 

“Rodrik, you can go now,” Sansa said, and the poor boy scurried off. 

“I take it Daenerys wasn’t too impressed by your demands,” Cersei said. 

“No,” Margaery said bitterly. “She’s proving to be rather difficult to deal with.” 

“I expected that much,” Cersei said. “But don’t worry. You don’t have to pretend with me.” She sat down unceremoniously in the chair where Daenerys had been mere moments before. “I know exactly what you think of me, so don’t bother with the niceties. What do you want?” 

Sansa opened her mouth, then closed it. 

“After the war,” she said. “The war with the dead, I mean.” 

“Ah, yes,” Cersei said. “The elusive _after.”_

“You don’t think we’ll win?” Margaery said. 

Sansa felt Cersei glance knowingly at her, but she deflected it. _Don’t test me._

“I wouldn’t be here if I thought we stood no chance,” she said. “But I’m hardly what you’d call optimistic.” She scoffed. “I’m sure I don’t have to guess what _after the war_ looks like for Daenerys - her on the Iron Throne and me burnt to ashes, I suppose?” 

Sansa said nothing. 

“And - now correct me if I’m wrong - to be queen of _all_ seven kingdoms. The North included.” She was smirking now, and that only further infuriated Sansa. 

“Were you standing by the door the whole time?” Margaery said. 

“No,” Cersei said. “But I do remember our previous correspondence. And I know you Northerners - you’re difficult to assert control over, dragons or no dragons.” She leaned in a little closer, and Sansa resisted the urge to avert her gaze - in her mind she wasn’t afraid of her, not anymore, but her instincts were still telling her to run. 

“Now tell me,” Cersei said. “What do you want to happen after the war?” 

All of a sudden, Sansa felt thirteen again, looking at this woman who she admired and reviled in equal measures, terrified to tell the truth but also too afraid to lie. 

“The North doesn’t want to bow to Daenerys,” she said shakily. “Jon might have bent the knee to her, but that doesn’t reflect what the rest of us want.”

“I suspected as much,” Cersei said. 

“We want what we’ve always wanted,” Sansa said. “To be independent. For Jon to be the King in the North, and for that to mean what it’s supposed to mean.”

Cersei chuckled. “And Daenerys won’t give you that.”

“I doubt it,” Margaery said. 

Cersei’s eyes slid to Margaery, and Sansa’s chest tightened. _Don’t you say anything to her._

“You consider yourself to be ‘The North’ now,” she said. “Not a southern lady?” 

“I’m the Lady of Winterfell,” Margaery said. “The concerns of the North are my concerns too.”

Cersei gave a mocking laugh. “I see.”

She leaned back in her chair. “There seems to be an opportunity here, for us to make an agreement of sorts.” 

Sansa raised her eyebrows. “An agreement?” 

“Yes.” She tilted her head. “The North may secede, should it want to. It would be governed independently by the King in the North and his advisors, and the rest of Westeros would consider it a separate entity, with no control over it whatsoever.” 

_No,_ was Sansa’s first thought. _No, this is too easy._

“And what do you get out of this agreement?” she snapped. “What do you want from us?” 

“To be left alone,” Cersei said simply. “The last thing Westeros needs is another war - don’t look at me like that, I know exactly what you’re thinking, but believe it or not I _don’t_ want my children and the people I love to grow up in a war-torn world like you and I have. In return for independence, the North will not offer aid to Daenerys, and there will be no resurgence of the war against the Targaryen forces.” 

Sansa just looked at her, trying to read whatever was flickering behind those green eyes. 

“I want exactly what you want,” Cersei said. “I think the rest of Westeros wants that as well. How many people have to die-”

“Since when have you cared about innocent people dying?” Margaery seethed. 

“Since-” She looked as though she was going to give a straight answer there, which bemused Sansa more than anything else she’d said, but Cersei seemed to stop herself from saying whatever it was. “I have a responsibility,” she said. “As Queen. It’s taken me a long time to understand what that means, but I do not intend to put my people through more of what they’ve endured for the past five years.”

She still wasn’t being honest, Sansa could tell. But she didn’t have the energy to push her any further. 

“I don’t know how I can tell Jon to go against Daenerys,” Sansa said. 

“Love will do that to a man,” Cersei said. “But if he can’t understand what ruling means and I can, then he definitely needs to learn a few things.” 

Sansa laughed, and then immediately bit her tongue. _Don’t you dare. That’s not funny._

“What if we don’t take the offer?” Margaery said. 

Cersei glanced at Sansa once again, this time prolonging her stare, loading her look with meaning. 

“No,” Sansa breathed. “You can’t.”

“What?” Margaery said. “Sansa, what are you-”

“Let’s just say Sansa knows exactly what I’m capable of,” she said coldly. “But I know it won’t come to that. You’re the ones who get the most out of this agreement, not me.” 

Every nerve in Sansa’s body was screaming at her to say yes, to make the decision and give her people the freedom they so desperately wanted. It made perfect sense: Cersei preferred a seceded North over a resurgent one siding with Daenerys, and she valued her position as Queen more than she did maintaining a kingdom that was impossible to control anyway, and Sansa was sure no one but Jon would oppose this. Even Arya, who despised Cersei more than anyone else, would probably see that this was a good deal. 

_I promised Arya she would get to kill Cersei,_ she remembered suddenly. _How many promises have I made that I’ll actually be able to keep?_

She should have said _yes_ or _no_ or _get out of my office_ or anything that was even slightly related to what Cersei was offering. 

Instead, another question floated into her mind. One she’d tried to ask before, but had been unsuccessful in getting an answer, which had hounded her for years now. 

“...Why did you let me live?” she asked, her voice quivering a little. 

Cersei’s eyes widened. “What?” 

She steeled herself. “When I was in the Eyrie and your men came after me, I thought you wanted me dead. But you let me live and took me back to King’s Landing. I knew you didn’t do it out of the goodness of your heart, of course you didn’t, and while I was there I kept waiting and waiting for you to do something to me, I was convinced that I’d been assigned to some fate worse than death or that you were going to keep using me as a pawn for _something,_ and…” She took a deep breath. “You said it yourself. No more pretending. So what do you want with me?” 

Cersei blinked a few times, her mouth agape a little in surprise. 

She laughed awkwardly. “Well. You really want to know?” 

It wasn’t a menacing statement. If anything, _she_ sounded rather uncomfortable. 

“I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t,” Sansa said. “What are you so afraid of?” 

Cersei glanced at Margaery, then chuckled again. “The thing is...Brienne told me that Margaery had told _her_ that she was in love with Sansa-”

“She told you?” Margaery said indignantly. 

“Well, she told Jaime, and Jaime told me.” She gritted her teeth. “This sounds ridiculous.” 

“Yes, it does,” Margaery said. “I can’t believe she told Jaime. But what does that have to do with...anything?” 

“You’ve always been a conniving little bitch,” Cersei said, still looking at Margaery, who didn’t even blink. “I knew you would try and dig your claws into my son once the two of you were married. So when I heard about your little infatuation, I hoped that if I brought Sansa back alive, she might sufficiently distract you from manipulating Tommen.” She indicated the two of them, throwing her arms out. “I suppose it worked..” 

Sansa just blinked at her in disbelief. “I’m sorry, _what?”_

“You let her live,” Margaery said, “because you wanted to push us together?” 

Cersei shrugged. “You’re welcome.” 

“Are you being serious?”

“What would I possibly gain from making this up?” Cersei said. 

It was the most ridiculous thing Sansa had ever heard, but from what she knew about Cersei it made more sense than she liked to admit. 

“Well,” Sansa said. “It obviously didn’t work that well, considering-”

“You don’t need to remind me,” Cersei said, indicating her short hair. “And I don’t suppose you feel particularly indebted to me, either.”

“No.” 

_I’m only with Margaery because Cersei wanted me to be. And that’s the only reason I’m still alive._

She felt stupid for deliberating over it for so long. 

“Well, as far as the agreement goes,” Sansa said, trying to divert away from that line of conversation, “I suppose we’ll have to wait and see what happens-”

There was another knock on the door, and she hung her head. 

“Come in?” _If that’s Daenerys again, I’m going to stab someone with this quill._

Instead, Jon walked in, and the fact that he didn’t even acknowledge Cersei’s presence with a double take immediately set her on edge. 

“What is it?” she said. “Jon-”

“Meeting downstairs,” he said. “All of us. Now.” He looked at Cersei. “You, too. Ser Jaime and Lady Brienne are going there now, they asked me to let you know they were alright.” 

“Let me know they were alright?” Cersei stood up, the legs of her chair scraping harshly on the floor. “Why wouldn’t they be? What’s going on.” 

He swallowed. “They’re coming. Anywhere north of here is already fighting for the Night King.”

Sansa felt all the blood drain out of her face. 

“We have until the sun comes up tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!  
> I know this chapter was a bit long, but there were so many bits I wanted to include that I feel like are really important to the story that I felt like needed to be here. This story started off relatively light-hearted, and while it was always going to go in this direction I wanted that tone to still resonate here among the darker surroundings and have a few light moments in the lead up to the battle.  
> Also, battles are HARD to plan, even when the template for it already exists.  
> Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts and feedback! :)


	41. She Never Wanted To Leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The army of the living prepares for battle, and try to find comfort in each other in what could be their last night as the dead approach Winterfell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi again, everyone! I would have liked to bash this one out in a week, but I had a big ole' deadline last week. Also, the length of these chapters has gotten WELL away from me, probably because the story is now covering greater chunks of the episode. Anyway, enjoy!

**Brienne**

“They’re coming,” Jon said, his voice heavy and commanding. “We have all the weapons we need, all the defences we can muster. But there are too many of them. Our enemy doesn’t tire, doesn’t stop, doesn’t feel. Their numbers are endless, and as ours deplete, theirs only grow. We can’t beat them in a straight fight.”

Brienne looked hopelessly down at the battle plan in front of them, feeling no more powerful than the little stones used to represent their men. 

“So what can we do?” Jaime said. 

Jon sighed. “The Night King made them all. If he falls...getting to him may be our best chance.” 

“If that’s true, he wouldn’t just expose himself,” Brienne said. 

“Yes, he will.” 

She resisted the urge to start at the sound of Bran’s voice from the other side of the room. He was so quiet, so still, that it was all too easy to forget he was there. 

“He’ll come for me,” he said, his eyes filled with unspeakable sorrow. “He’s tried before, many times, with those who’ve come before me.” 

_He’s barely Tommen’s age,_ Brienne thought sadly. _What a terrible thing for a child to speak so plainly about his own death._

“Why?” Loras Tyrell spoke up. “What does he want with you?” 

“The Night King was created by the Children of the Forest,” Bran said. “Against his own will, he was tasked with raising the army of the dead against the living. But they created me, too, and if I die he will no longer be tethered to them.”

Jon was looking at Bran in just as much confusion as everyone else, which was a relief because Brienne could barely comprehend a word he had just said. “You’re saying that all he has to do is kill you?” 

“It will not win him the battle,” Bran said blankly. “But it will give him what he truly wants.”

“How will he find you?” Tyrion asked. 

“His mark is on me.” 

Brienne couldn’t help but notice a little quiver in her chest, which she tried her best to still. She’d desperately hoped going over their plans would put her at a little more ease, reassure her that they did stand a chance, but all it was doing was making her completely unsettled. 

Perhaps Cersei had been right to be so pessimistic about the outcome of all this. 

“We’ll put you in the crypt,” Jon said. “Where it’s safest-”

“No,” Bran said, cutting him off. “We need to lure him into the open before his army destroys us all. I’ll wait for him in the Godswood.”

“You want us to use you as bait?” Sansa said. “We can’t just leave you alone out there.”

“He won’t be.” A young man - Balon Greyjoy’s boy, Brienne recalled - said. “The Ironborn will protect him.” 

The Starks eyed him curiously, and Brienne suddenly remembered that this was the Greyjoy who had taken Winterfell all those years ago. And yet here he was, fighting alongside those he once sought to conquer, protecting the boy he’d tried to kill. 

“I took this castle from you,” Theon said. “Let me defend you now.” 

Bran nodded solemnly. 

“You’re a child,” Brienne pleaded, not really meaning to say the words until they had left her lips. “I mean - is there no other way?” 

“I was younger when your husband flung me from a window,” Bran deadpanned. “And age means little to me now.” 

“That’s hardly necessary-” Jaime began, before the specifics of Bran’s words dawned on both of them. 

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Brienne said. “My-”

“You’re married?” Margaery said. “Since when?” 

“Since-” Brienne turned back to Bran, eyes wide with disbelief. “How did you know that?” 

“I see everything,” he said cryptically. 

If Brienne had felt unsettled before, she felt positively disturbed now. If Bran could see everything - and he meant _everything -_

She shuddered to imagine. 

“This is all well and good,” Cersei said irritably, “but is there anything we can even do to stop the Night King? I mean, dragonglass, fire, all of that - how do we know that will kill him?”

No one said anything. 

“Right,” Cersei said, gritting her teeth. “Excellent.” 

“We will simply have to hope,” Jon said, “and hold the rest of them off as long as we can.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little irresponsible to leave your brother out in the open if you don’t even know that the trap will work?” Cersei threw her hands up in frustration. 

“No one is invulnerable,” Bran said. “Not even the Night King.” 

“Do you see that?” Jaime asked.

“I know it.” 

“If you can see everything,” Cersei said. “Can’t you see how we can win this battle?”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Bran said. “I can see-” 

“A simple ‘no’ would suffice.” Cersei put both her hands on the table and sighed. “So what can we do, other than hope for the best?”

Brienne could feel the fear coming off Cersei in waves, her japes and retorts little more than an outlet for the anticipation she felt at the battle to come. She was half inclined to scold her, to tell her to calm down and focus on the matter at hand, but she had a horrible feeling that would only make the situation worse. So she simply put her own hand atop Cersei’s, mercifully hidden by the darkness, and stroked it reassuringly, feeling the tension in her knuckles slowly subside. 

“We have plenty of men,” Jon said. “The Dothraki will be leading the cavalry charge, and with regiments from the Lannisters, Tyrells, the Free Folk and the Night’s Watch manning the walls and on the ground, the castle itself will be well defended. The Ironborn and the Mormont men will be defending Bran in the godswood, and the Unsullied will be on the second line of defense. I know the outcome seems uncertain, and we hardly have any sort of upper hand, but we will try.” 

Tyrion leaned over to point at the map. “Daenerys and Jon will be flying overhead on Drogon and Rheagal. Now, I must ask both of you not to fly too low, and to keep to these areas.” He traced his finger down the centre of the map.

“Why?” Daenerys asked. 

Out of the corner of her eye, Brienne saw Cersei and Sansa make urgent eye contact, then dip their heads back down again. 

“The dragons are our greatest weapon against the dead,” Tyrion said, the lie coming easily. “According to Jon, the White Walkers have weapons too, and we don’t know how much damage they can do. Their safety, and yours, is a priority.” 

Brienne was beginning to suspect that all this would be a lot easier if they had just been honest about the wildfire from the beginning. The battle plans would have made much more sense to everyone, and she had a feeling the distrust was holding everyone back. 

_Cersei and Qyburn made incredibly careful plans for it,_ she tried to remind herself. _It won’t go off unless we trigger it, and perhaps Sansa was right to be apprehensive - most of us are still enemies here._

But her chest still strained with the words she couldn’t say, the desire to let the knowledge out into the open. 

“Now,” Tyrion said, cutting through the buzzing of her fearful thoughts, “when the time comes, Ser Davos and I will be waiting on the walls to give you the signal to light the trench.” 

“Ser Davos is perfectly capable of waving a torch on his own,” Daenerys argued. “You’ll be in the crypt.” 

Tyrion glared up at her, for a moment resembling a child who had just been told what to do by his mother. “Your Grace, I have fought before. I can do it again, alongside the rest of the men - and women - risking their lives.” 

“There are thousands of them,” she said. “But there is only one of you. You can’t fight as well as they can but you can think better than any of them.”

Brienne heard a faint scoffing noise coming from her right - Cersei certainly didn’t seem to reciprocate that sentiment.

“You’re here because of your mind,” Daenerys continued, seeming not to have heard Cersei’s amusement. “If we survive, I’ll need it.” 

The silence in the dark room seemed palpable, the gaps between people speaking up agonisingly long and tense. Everyone there must have known exactly how likely it was that they were going to fail and lose everything: no matter what they had, they were still only human, only living and breathing and thinking, and against the army of the dead that just wasn’t enough. 

“The dragons should give us an advantage in the field,” Davos said.

“If they’re in the field,” Jon retorted, “they’re not protecting Bran. We need to be near him. Not too near, though, or the Night King won’t come, but close enough to pursue him when he does.”

“Will dragonfire stop him?” Arya asked. 

“No one’s ever tried,” Bran said hopelessly. 

“Well, we can try,” said Daenerys. 

“And if we fail,” Cersei said. “What then?” 

Jon sighed. “Nothing’s invulnerable.”

Cersei gritted her teeth. “I’m not convinced.”

“Well, what do you want us to do?” Daenerys said. “Give up because you don’t think we stand a chance?” 

“I never said that,” Cersei seethed. “I’m simply trying to be realistic.”

“And I’m not?” Daenerys said. “I-”

“ _Please,”_ Sansa interjected, and they both fell silent. “We’re doing all we can. The last thing we need is to be at each others’ throats when the dead are getting closer every minute.” 

Cersei huffed, taking her hands off the table and standing up straight again. 

“No matter what happens,” Sansa said, “we need to do it together. Otherwise we really don’t stand a chance.” 

The room went quiet once more, and for a second Brienne swore she could feel a cold wind blowing over them even this far under the ground, raising the hair on the back of her neck and making her shiver. 

“We should get some rest,” Jon said eventually. 

Brienne nodded solemnly as everyone around the table dispersed, no one wanting to utter a word, the thick, stuffy air of the room feeling like it weighed down upon her head, adding to the pounding sensation that was beginning to form there. 

A hand grabbed hers, and she shrieked. 

“Sorry!” Jaime said. “Sorry. I should have-”

“It’s fine,” she said, stretching her fingers out to intertwine with his as the shaking that came from the shock slowly died down. “I just…”

“I know,” he said warmly. “Me too.” 

The corners of her mouth twitched into a sad little smile as he kneaded her hand with his fingers, but that was quickly met by the reminder of just how little time they might have left. 

_It’s for the good of the Seven Kingdoms,_ she reminded herself. _We have no choice but to fight now, to go forwards and stop the rest of Westeros from falling to the same fate as those north of here._

But while her ever-dutiful mind said one thing, every nerve in her body seemed to be screaming at her to run, to turn and go back to King’s Landing and hide under the Red Keep, as so many had accused the Lannisters of wanting to do. 

_I am not a coward, or a deserter._

But perhaps it would have been easier to be one, right then. 

**Cersei**

“Does being here again unsettle you?” Jaime asked. 

“What?” Cersei turned away from the dark, shadowy hallway they’d been trying to navigate for the past few minutes, hoping to find somewhere with a warmer fire than the pathetic, sputtering pile of coal that flickered in their chambers. They’d tried to get some sleep, but that hadn’t worked, and Jaime had never been able to sleep before a battle anyway. 

“Maybe it’s just...well, the whole situation, really, but...I don’t know. Every time I turn a corner and see something I saw all those years ago, a statue or a table or a door or _anything,_ I just…” He sighed. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

“No, I know what you mean.” Cersei sighed. “It was never going to bring back any happy memories, was it?”

“And Bran Stark staring at you without blinking probably doesn’t help either,” Brienne noted. 

“No,” Jaime said sadly. “I don’t suppose it does.” 

“I wonder if it’s our fault,” Cersei said. “That he’s some...I don’t know. All-seeing warg _thing.”_

“Maybe I knocked it into him.”

His words didn’t carry the light, sarcastic tone they sometimes did when he felt able to joke about his own misfortunes. Instead, his voice sounded as heavy as the stifling air in the dark castle, and Cersei couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness for him. 

“That was then,” Brienne said. “Years and years ago. You’re - well, I wouldn’t say you’re a different person, but you’ve certainly realised a lot of things since then.” They turned a corner, and she peered into the darkness ahead of them. “And honestly, the best thing you could do to make up for any of that is to help the Starks now, which is exactly what you’re doing. But I know not feeling guilty is easier said than done.”

“No, you’re right,” Jaime said. “Though I can’t help but feel Bran is making it his personal mission to disturb me as much as possible.”

“And calling you Brienne’s husband!” Cersei remarked. “That was...eerie.”

Jaime laughed, still sounding a little empty. 

“Do you think,” Brienne said, “that if he sees _everything-”_

“Don’t,” Jaime chuckled. 

“I don’t suppose it’s anything he hasn’t already seen,” Cersei said, which earned her what would have been a light whack on the arm had its deliverer not had a hand made of solid gold. “Ow!” 

“I do pity him for having to witness _that,”_ Jaime said. “For his own good, I almost hope he did manage to see _everything,_ if it would have given him a better impression of-”

“I regret bringing it up,” Brienne laughed, raising her voice to drown out Jaime’s. “You-”

She shut her mouth abruptly as they came to the end of the long corridor, and she caught sight of exactly who was sitting in the chamber beyond it, illuminated by the crackling firelight. 

Cersei instantly clenched her jaw - _we wanted to be alone, for the gods’ sake, and if we couldn’t have that we certainly didn’t want to be alone with him._

“Oh,” Tyrion said, setting his wine-glass at his side. “Good...evening.”

He looked more than a little perplexed at their presence. 

“Are you alright?” Jaime asked. “I would have thought you would be with your...with Daenerys, and all of them.” 

“Daenerys is with Jon,” Tyrion said, and Cersei restrained a knowing scoff. “I didn’t want to burden her with endless lecturing this late in the day. All any of us can do now is wait, and hope for the best.” 

_That sounds about right,_ Cersei thought, as her chest flooded with panic at the reminder that they were powerless to do anything about the forthcoming battle except wait for the dead to creep towards their gates. 

“But never mind me,” Tyrion said. “What are you three doing here?” 

“We were just looking for somewhere quiet,” Brienne said. “To be with each other.” 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “Oh?” 

“Not like _that,”_ Cersei huffed. “Gods, is that all you ever think about?”

“I’ll have you know I’ve been completely celibate ever since I left King’s Landing.” 

“Now that I hardly believe.”

“Perhaps you should,” Tyrion said wistfully. “We Lannisters do seem to have a knack for surprising each other.” 

_Maybe so._

“I can still leave,” he said stiffly. “If you’d like me to.”

“No,” Jaime said, and Cersei whipped her head towards him. “Don’t.” 

“What?” she muttered. 

“If tonight is all we have,” Jaime said, his voice quivering a little, “then let’s just...let bygones be bygones for a few hours?” 

_He betrayed us,_ Cersei instinctively thought. _He despises me more than anyone else in this world. Why should I waste what might be the last night of my life -_

She felt her eyes burn with the threat of tears at that unexpected thought, and desperately blinked them back in the dark. 

“Cersei?” Brienne said softly. 

“Alright,” Cersei said, the word rolling reluctantly out of her mouth. 

“Alright?” Jaime raised his eyebrows.

She thinned her lips. “You’re right.” 

Without another word, she went to sit down opposite Tyrion, dragging three chairs which had clearly been left over from some meeting next to the fireside. 

Brienne let out an audible sigh as she came into the warmth of the firelight. 

“Nice, isn’t it?” Tyrion said. “I will admit, I’m not as used to the cold as I pretend to be.” 

“Me neither,” Brienne said. She slumped down into the chair on Cersei’s left. “I mean, I’m not sure if it’s _ever_ snowed on Tarth, so this is all quite a lot to deal with.” 

Jaime chuckled. “And here I thought you were the adaptable one.” 

“I try to be,” she said. 

The three of them shuffled their chairs closer together, all leaning towards the warmth. 

“I do wonder what Father would think of all this,” Tyrion said. “All three of his children, prepared to die to defend the Starks.” 

Cersei laughed. “I would quite like to see his face at that.”

“Though perhaps it’s for the best that he’s not around to see it,” Jaime said. “He’d probably sell us all out to the Night King for the right amount of gold if he were still alive.” 

“Or marry Cersei to him,” Brienne remarked. 

Tyrion choked a little on his wine. “Oh, absolutely. I’d almost pity him.” 

Cersei rolled her eyes. “You wouldn’t pity me for being married to an undead monster?” 

“In my defense, he probably wouldn’t last five minutes, given your...history.” 

“No,” Cersei said. “I suppose not.” 

That sort of comment usually would have inflamed her fury and made her snap at her brother or storm out of the room, but she didn’t have the energy to be so full of rage right then. Instead, she just leaned back in her chair and sighed. 

“Do you remember the first time we came here?” she asked. “All those years ago.” 

“Of course,” Tyrion said. “You were a pair of shining golden lions, and I was a drunken whoremonger. How simple it all was back then.”

“I’d hardly say _shining,”_ Jaime said. “I mean, we were fucking each other.” 

Cersei sucked a breath in through her teeth. “Yes. That was...unfortunate.”

“Disastrous,” Jaime commented. 

The corners of Tyrion’s mouth curled up. 

“What?” Cersei said. _Don’t laugh at us now._

“Nothing,” Tyrion said. “I’m just...I don’t know. Perhaps I’m proud of you.” 

“Proud?” 

“I mean, Jaime told me that you’d decided to end things between you, but I’m not sure I believed you. I thought perhaps it was another reckless decision you wouldn’t stick to, and-”

“That all it would take was another death in the family to push us back together,” Cersei recited. “Yes, I remember that.” 

Tyrion scoffed. “Well, I suppose I can’t always be right. I must say, you both seem so much happier now. Even given our imminent doom.”

“I do wonder if we’d even be here if we hadn’t ended things between us,” Cersei said thoughtfully. 

“No?” 

“Well, then I would never have met Brienne. And I’d...well, I don’t know where I would be.” 

Brienne smiled warmly. “You-”

Her sentence was cut off by the sound heavy, echoing footsteps reverberating through the chamber, and Cersei sighed in exasperation as a figure appeared in the doorway. 

“Ser Davos,” Tyrion said. “Are you alright?” 

_I have no idea who this man is,_ Cersei thought. _Should I?_

“Sorry to interrupt,” the man said. “I was told there was a warm fire burning in here, and it may as well be the Lands of Always Winter out there.”

“No, no, don’t worry,” Tyrion said. “Come in.”

Davos nodded amiably, and made his way eagerly towards the fire. 

“Ser Davos, is it?” Brienne asked. “I don’t believe we’ve met.” 

Davos turned towards her, the three of them now illuminated by the flickering flames, and his eyes widened suddenly. “Y - Your Grace.”

“It’s alright,” Tyrion said. “She’s with me.” 

Cersei rolled her eyes. “That’s debatable.”

Davos looked as if he had no clue how to respond to that. 

“Come, sit down,” Tyrion said. “Believe me, you’re not imposing on anything. I’ve got some wine here, if you’d…”

“Not for me, thank you. I like to keep a clear head before a battle.” 

Tyrion smirked. “So do I. In theory.” He turned towards the three of them. “I suppose I should have offered you three some. My apologies.”

“It’s alright,” Brienne said. “I...don’t think that would be the best idea. For any of us.” 

“Not even you?” He glanced knowingly at Cersei.

Cersei shook her head. 

“You really _do_ surprise me,” he remarked. 

_I surprise myself too,_ she thought. In all honesty, she could feel her hands beginning to shake and she really wouldn’t have minded a glass of wine or four right then, but she knew full well what a terrible idea that was. How quickly it could all fall apart if she gave into what she wanted. 

“What’s going on in here?” 

Cersei saw Tyrion grit his teeth in frustration as another man walked into the room, which was never a good sign. 

“Tormund,” he said, sounding all too reluctant. “Good evening.” 

Cersei vaguely recalled this man: the tall, brutish wildling who had accompanied Jon to their meeting and whose voice had grated on her ears. A few people around the castle had tried to give them a speech about how the wildlings weren’t really savage brutes and that they’d have to respect them or risk breaking the already fragile alliance between them and those from the Seven Kingdoms, but when faced with this particular man she couldn’t help but forget all that and think that everything she’d ever heard was absolutely true. 

“No need for any of that,” he said, flinging a dismissive hand towards Tyrion when he raised his pitcher of wine. “I brought my own drink.” 

He lifted a horn of some sort, and Cersei shuffled back in her chair. 

“Come and sit,” Davos said. “This may well be our last night on earth, we may as well spend it with…” He glanced nervously at Cersei. “With strangers we should have known better.” 

Tormund squinted at Cersei, and she glared right back up at him. 

“Ahh,” he said eventually, sitting down right opposite her. “So you’re the queen who fucks her brother.” 

Cersei opened her mouth, then closed it again. She could feel her jaw tensing with the urge to get out of her chair and reprimand him, but the sheer obtuseness of the statement had left her completely bewildered.

For so many years, people had whispered about her when they thought she couldn’t hear, calling her a bitch and a whore and a degenerate, and every single one of those words had slithered its way beneath her skin, and yet hearing it put so plainly bordered on the comical. 

“Well,” she said eventually. “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“How else could you put it?” Jaime said. 

“Fuck _ed,”_ Cersei went on, rather deliriously. “Past tense.” 

“Well, I wasn’t under the impression that you were fucking right now,” Tormund japed.

“I _meant,”_ Cersei said, and he shut his mouth abruptly, “that we aren’t...together, anymore. Seven hells, I don’t know how many times we have to explain that for people to understand it.”

“You’d think they would have found something else to call you by now,” Brienne said. “It’s been, what, four years?”

“I don’t see what’s wrong with _Queen Cersei,”_ she said. “But here we are.” 

“I thought you’d be scarier,” Tormund said. 

“Sorry to disappoint,” she said drily. “I should have remembered to slaughter outrageous numbers of my enemies and leave their blood on my hands before I sat down with you. Would that have impressed you?” 

Davos’ eyes widened drastically. 

“I’m joking,” she said. 

Brienne raised her eyebrows playfully, as if to say _Don’t push it._

Tormund chuckled, and his eyes slid towards Brienne. “You’re intimidating.” 

“...Thank you?” 

He grinned lasciviously. “And very tall. I like tall women.”

Brienne recoiled slightly, and Cersei placed a protective hand across her knuckles. _Don’t talk to her like that, you ridiculous oaf._

Tormund took a sip from the strange horn he was clutching, and looked over the top of it suggestively. 

_In fact, don’t even look at her._

“Please,” Jaime said, and Cersei could see her anger reflected in his own eyes as he instinctively moved towards Brienne. “She’s-”

He stopped abruptly, the words escaping him. 

“Ah, yes,” Tyrion said, setting his glass down at his side. “I did mean to ask about that.”

Brienne glanced at the floor nervously. 

“Bran Stark called you her husband, didn’t he?” he said curiously. “Is that true?” 

“I…” Jaime sighed. “Yes.” 

“Since when? I mean no offense, but I was certain that if there had been such an important wedding we would have heard about it. And isn’t the Lord Commander supposed to remain celibate anyway?” 

“That’s a stupid law,” Cersei said. She cringed a little in the aftermath, realising the implications of her sentence. 

“We did it in secret,” Brienne said. “On our way here.” 

Cersei glanced triumphantly back at Tormund, whose smirk had faded into a forlorn expression. 

“Well,” Davos said. “Congratulations, m’lady. M’lord.” 

“Should we start calling you ‘Jaime of Tarth’ now?” Tyrion asked knowingly. 

Cersei chuckled, despite herself. “That’s what I said.” 

Tyrion raised his eyebrows. “You were there?” 

She gritted her teeth. _Well, it was all bound to come out eventually. And if we’re not going to make it past tomorrow...._

“I married them to each other,” Cersei said. “Using my power as Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”

She hadn’t meant to sound quite so tentative, but the reluctancy of her words had left everyone in their tiny circle staring at her in anticipation. 

“And,” she went on, and she could feel Brienne staring at her out of the corner of her eye but she didn’t dare turn to meet her eyes in case she faltered, “I married her too.” 

She allowed her head to turn, and she finally met Brienne’s gaze, those sapphire pools melting her completely and forcing a sad, hopeless grin onto her face. 

“Cersei?” Brienne breathed. “Are you sure?” 

“It’s too late now,” she said. 

The corners of Brienne’s mouth curled up into a smile. “I suppose so. And if -”

“Hold on,” Davos said, and Cersei tore her eyes away from her wife. _My wife,_ she thought, with a sudden jolt. “I’m sorry, I don’t quite understand. You married...her?” 

“Yes,” Cersei said, and she could tell she was grinning like an idiot, but she hardly cared. 

“But she’s a woman.” 

“I can see that.” 

“I don’t mean to judge, my lady - Your Grace -” He sighed. “I didn’t realise that was possible.” 

“In all the ways that matter,” Brienne said, “it is.” 

“And to two people at once,” Tyrion marvelled. “To think of all the problems that could have solved throughout the years were it possible. Though I still don’t quite understand how all this-” he gestured at the three of them - “works.” 

“You know, we seem to spend an awful lot of time explaining ourselves,” Jaime said. “We understand how it works, and quite frankly that’s enough.” 

Tyrion gave a sad chuckle. “Perhaps.” 

Tormund opened his mouth, and Cersei gritted her teeth once again. 

“I don’t understand you southerners and your vows,” he said. “But I was under the impression that if you wedded a queen, then you’d be a king. Queen.” He glanced pointedly at Brienne, and raised his eyebrows. “Are you the queen, then, Brienne?” 

“I…” Brienne laughed. “I suppose so. Queen Consort, at least - I know that doesn’t mean much, but-”

“Brienne,” Cersei chided. “It means _everything._ Besides, you’re probably the best queen these miserable kingdoms will ever know.”

She blushed. “I don’t know about that.” 

“I do,” Jaime said. “Certainly the kindest, the bravest, the cleverest - the most beautiful-”

“Now you’re just being soppy,” Brienne scoffed, but there was a sadness to her voice as she joked at him. 

Jaime smiled, the expression tinged with sorrow, too. “Maybe. But I’m right.”

“Aye,” Davos said. “I don’t know you very well, Lady Brienne, but I know you’ve a good heart.” 

“Despite the company she keeps,” Cersei muttered. 

“I never said that.”

_But you were thinking it,_ Cersei thought. 

“I’m no kneeler cunt,” Tormund said. “But if I were, I’d kneel to you.” 

“Will you leave her alone?” Jaime said defensively. “Gods, have a little respect.”

“For your queen,” Cersei said. 

“Exactly!” Jaime glanced proudly at Brienne. “What does that make me, then?”

The five of them stared blankly at him for a few moments, all trying to figure out some sort of response to his query. It was too late, and their minds were foggy with fear and anticipation. 

“It makes you Jaime Lannister,” Tyrion said. “A damn good Lord Commander if there ever was one, and sort of a king. Sometimes. Perhaps on alternating days of the week.” 

“Don’t they call you Kingkiller?” Tormund said. 

“...I’m sure someone has, at some point,” Jaime said, and Cersei couldn’t restrain a laugh. 

“What a strange transition to make,” Tyrion said. “From kingslayer to king.” 

“I wouldn’t be the first,” Jaime said. “In fact, I wouldn’t even be the first in this room.” 

He looked over at Cersei, and she instantly huffed.

“I didn’t kill him!” she protested.

“You want me to pin the blame on that poor innocent boar?” 

“I just...moved things along,” she said. 

“By poisoning him!” Brienne offered. 

“Alright. Well.” She threw her hands up. “I killed him. And now I’m the queen. Good for me.”

Jaime scoffed. “This is a ridiculous conversation.” 

“Maybe,” Brienne laughed heartily, the unrestrained, eager sound filling the chamber from ceiling to floor. 

The three of them went quiet once again, and for a moment Cersei felt unflinchingly warm and at ease, the aftershocks of laughter filling her chest and the blazing fire a comfort. She tried to grab onto that feeling, keep it with her to remember when the sun eventually came up and all hell broke loose, but as soon as it had come it vanished, and she was filled with that shaky, endless dread again. 

“Are you alright?” 

“What?” Cersei turned towards Brienne. “Yes. I - I’m fine.”

The burning behind her eyes told a different story. She was terrified, and everyone must have been able to tell.

“You know,” Tyrion said. “I think we may live.”

“You and your jokes,” Jaime said. 

He thinned his lips. “I knew it wouldn’t sound at all convincing.”

“At least we’ll die with honour,” Brienne said. “Protecting the future of the Seven Kingdoms.” 

“All of us?” Cersei said, the words coming out faintly. 

Brienne whipped her head towards her, a soft concern in her eyes. “Of course,” she said. “You’re here with the rest of us, aren’t you?” 

Cersei shrugged. “Of all the ways I’d imagined dying, _with honour_ certainly wasn’t on that list. Though I suppose neither was defending the Starks.” 

Brienne gave her hand a squeeze, and the warmth from her touch flooded through Cersei’s veins and through her whole body, making her exhale slowly and lean back into her chair. 

“I know you,” she said. “And whatever _honour_ means...I do wonder, sometimes, if we take it the wrong way. Because killing your king-” she glanced knowingly at Jaime - “might be dishonourable, but think about how many people you saved that day. If that’s not good or righteous because you went against some order to stop a city being burned, then I don’t know what is.”

Jaime looked intently at Brienne, his eyes glistening. “You think so?” he said weakly. 

“Of course.”

Brienne looked up at the people in front of them, Tyrion and the strangers, but she didn’t falter. 

“We’ve all done things we wish we could change,” Brienne went on. “We’ve all hurt people we wish we could heal now. But Cersei - going against years and years of hatred and fear to defend your enemies - if that’s not honourable, then what is?” 

Cersei could feel her cheek growing wet, but she didn’t care enough to wipe away the stray tears. _Let them fall,_ she thought, the notion strangely bold to her. _Let them see me weep._

“Besides,” she said. “Tyrion might have been joking, but I...I don’t know. I think we stand a chance.” 

Cersei gave a sad little laugh. “Perhaps.” 

Brienne’s eyes were glistening, too, the warm orange light stark against the clear blue. 

Before she knew what was happening, they were kissing, and Cersei felt even more tears leak from her eyes onto Brienne’s cheeks as their mouths met. 

She felt a weight on Brienne’s shoulders - _Jaime,_ she realised, just as his arm snaked around her back as he placed a kiss to Brienne’s cheek. Cersei gave his golden hand a squeeze, knowing full well he couldn’t feel it but needing the comfort, and for a moment it felt as though the cold metal squeezed back. 

The three of them stayed like that for a while, none of them wanting to move. _I wish we could stay like this forever,_ Cersei thought. _Us at each others’ side, no threat, no army of the dead, no impending doom. Just us, and the warmth._

Eventually, Tyrion coughed, and Cersei pulled away slowly, barely hearing him. 

“My apologies,” he said, which surprised her: she’d expected him to make some cruel jape about the three of them, but he looked sincere. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Don’t worry,” Jaime said. “We wouldn’t get anything done if no one ever did that.”

Brienne chuckled warmly. “That’s true.” 

Tyrion nodded. “I...I don’t think I should ever have been sceptical about the three of you. Especially you two.” He nodded at Cersei and Jaime. 

“No, that was probably fair,” Jaime said. “You know what we were like.” 

“I’m not sure I do, anymore,” Tyrion said. “I mean, strangely enough, you seem closer than you were before.” 

“We are,” Cersei said. “Just...differently.” 

It almost seemed like a shame, for a moment, that they would be on opposite sides if they survived this. For a fleeting moment, reconciliation had seemed possible, but like so many things it was just out of reach. 

But that was all counting on a very big _if,_ so Cersei let it go, and leaned back into Brienne, and didn’t bring it up. 

“...Would you like us to leave you alone, Your Grace?” Davos asked, his voice rough but compassionate. “We can - I mean, I can go.”

“Are you sure?” Brienne asked. 

Davos nodded. 

“If that’s alright, then,” Cersei said. 

“I’ll see you…” Tyrion’s sentence trailed off as he considered the end of it. “I’ll see you soon, I’m sure.” 

Jaime nodded appreciatively, and the other three trailed towards the doors, leaving Cersei, Jaime and Brienne alone in the warmth. 

“I don’t suppose we were ever going to get any sleep tonight,” Jaime said, snuggling his head back into the crevice between Brienne’s head and shoulders. 

“No,” Brienne said. “But I don’t think I’d want to be asleep. I wouldn’t want to miss a moment more of this.” 

Cersei felt another tear trickle out. 

“I don’t want to die,” she said weakly, after a few moments of silence. 

“I wish I could say I wouldn’t let that happen,” Brienne said. “But I won’t lie to you, I - I mean, none of us know what’s going to happen, do we?” 

“Well,” Jaime said. “If I’m going to die, there’s no one I’d rather die beside.” 

Brienne smiled. “Gods, we really are unbearably sappy, aren’t we?” 

“Good,” Cersei said, and she pressed a kiss just beneath Brienne’s eye. “We deserve to be.” 

The three of them went quiet again, Cersei and Jaime each tucked into Brienne’s shoulders with their hands twisted together on her lap. For a while, Cersei wasn’t sure if she was awake or asleep, her mind drifting in and out of consciousness in the perfect warmth. 

_If only we really could stay here forever,_ she thought sadly. 

**Sansa**

Sansa wrapped her cloak tighter around her as the bitter, cold air gnawed at her. 

The courtyard was filled with a tense buzzing sound, the nervous chatter of soldiers and smallfolk and armourers permeating through the air along with the clattering of plates and tankards. 

It seemed few people would be sleeping tonight.

“This soup is better than I expected,” Margaery said, lowering her bowl back down to their makeshift table. 

“It’s a lot better than what we had at Castle Black,” Sansa remembered. “That was just hot water with a few bits of beef floating around in it.” 

Margaery chuckled. “I’d forgotten all about that.” 

Olenna wrinkled her nose. “I can’t say this is much more than hot water.” 

“Of course you’d say that, Grandmother,” Margaery said. “They hardly have the facilities to make good soup for the thousands of us here.” 

“No, I suppose not.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Do you have any idea where Loras has got to?” 

“Last I saw of him, he was going to the armoury,” Sansa said. “But he might be with the rest of the Tyrell men.” 

“Will you be in the crypts with us?” Margaery asked. 

“Well, I’m not exactly going to be on the battlefield,” Olenna retorted, and Sansa _laughed,_ despite the intense shaking that was beginning to come over her. 

“Are you scared?” Sansa asked. 

Olenna set down her bowl and sighed. “Of course I’m scared. I can barely understand what’s going to happen tomorrow, but believe me, I know what’s at risk. I know, I know, you both think I’m some sort of...fearless old hag, but I won’t lie, I’m terrified.”

“I think the worst part is that we can’t really do anything about it anymore,” Margaery said weakly. “We’ll just have to wait, and...well, either we live or we don’t.”

_There is something we can do,_ Sansa thought. _But I pray it doesn’t come to that._

“We can still protect the people of Winterfell,” she said, deflecting her own thoughts. “As we’ve always done.” 

Margaery nodded solemnly. 

“Oh, there he is,” Olenna said, getting up from the table slowly. “Loras, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about…”

Her voice trailed off as she walked towards Loras, and Margaery and Sansa were left alone.

“She really does love him, you know,” Margaery said, glancing at the two of them from across the courtyard as they walked together. “She has a funny way of showing it, but I don’t know what she’d do without him.” 

“I really can’t thank your family enough,” Sansa said. “We would be nowhere without you.” 

Margaery placed her hand atop Sansa’s, and squeezed tightly. “You don’t have to thank us.” 

Sansa smiled, and glanced down at her soup. 

“I know it’s irrelevant, but I can’t stop thinking about what Cersei said,” she said. “That we’re only together because she wanted us to be.”

“Oh, gods, I know,” Margaery said. “It’s so strange. I mean, of all the schemes she could have enacted, setting us up is...an odd one.” 

Her voice was much lighter than Sansa’s, and she must have picked up on the difference in their meaning as Sansa didn’t laugh along with her. 

“Do you think…” Her eyes were wide now, filled with concern. “What do you think?” 

Sansa gave a sad half-smile. “I don’t know. I can’t help but think…”

_That it was all a lie,_ she thought. _That perhaps we didn’t have as much control over our own lives as we thought._

“Hey,” Margaery said. “It doesn’t matter what Cersei did or didn’t do. And you heard what she said, her plan didn’t really work anyway.”

She reached out for Sansa’s other hand, and she took it, swearing she could feel the warmth of her skin through her brown leather gloves. 

“Besides,” she said. “We’re together because I love you. Not because someone else wanted it to happen, or because we were a part of some complicated plot. But because we should be.”

“You think so?” 

“Of course,” Margaery said, her smile glowing in the darkness. “And would it really be a part of Cersei’s plan to have us both ruling Winterfell and fighting for Northern independence?” 

Sansa chuckled. “I would have killed to see the look on her face when she found _that_ out.” 

Margaery laughed brightly. “Gods, yes. I imagine she must have broken something.” 

Sansa laughed with her, and for a moment she felt as though she could forget the sense of impending doom that enveloped her. 

“I love you,” Sansa said. “You know that, don’t you?” 

“Of course I do,” Margaery said. “Why?” 

Sansa shook her head, and smiled. “Just...I know how uncertain the future is. I want you to know.” 

_And I want you to know that if I did something I really don’t want to do, that I did it for you. And I really shouldn’t have kept it a secret, I shouldn’t have trusted my enemies above you, but…_

She forced a slow exhale out of her mouth, trying her best to still her thoughts. _I can worry about that when it comes to it - if it comes to it._

Margaery smiled. “I love you, too. No matter what happens, I’ll stay by your side, and we will get through this together.” 

_I really hope you’re right._

Margaery leaned in a little way, and Sansa followed her, suddenly needing her touch, the warmth of her lips in the cold night and to hold her face close to her own - 

Their lips were a hair’s breadth apart when the horn sounded. 

It took Sansa a few seconds to absorb what she had just heard, feeling frozen in the air as it rang through her ears like a girl made of ice. But then - 

“Shit,” she breathed. “No. Not yet.” 

The cries of soldiers suddenly filled the courtyard, hundreds of men instantly running to their posts, picking up their weapons and nocking their bows. 

“What do we do?” Margaery said frantically. “What - are they here, are we too late-”

“We need to get inside,” Sansa said, pulling Margaery up from their table. “Now.” 

“Where’s Loras?” Margaery said. She glanced behind her, looking desperately for her brother in the dark. “Loras!”

“He’s probably gone,” Sansa said. “He’ll be with the rest of the Tyrell men.” 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Margaery’s face had been drained of blood, and her hands quaked in Sansa’s grasp. “I didn’t-”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa said urgently. “But we have to go.” 

Margaery seemed frozen to the spot, still staring out at the dark.

“Please.”

Eventually, Margaery nodded shakily, and the two of them dashed towards the castle, making their way towards the battlements. 

They pushed past what seemed like hundreds of men, scurrying up the worn stone stairs and praying that they would make it in time: Sansa wasn’t sure how long that meant they had left, if it was hours or seconds or that they were already doomed, but as her heart raced and pushed her forwards, that hardly mattered - 

She felt herself collide with someone, and she grunted. 

“Lady Sansa!” 

“Tyrion!” Margaery panted. “Are you - what’s-” 

“It’s fine,” he said. “Well, it isn’t, but we have time.” 

“How long?” 

He sighed. “Half an hour, at most.” 

Sansa gritted her teeth. “Shit.” 

Tyrion gazed out beyond the battlements, peering through the gap between the stones.” 

“What are you looking at?” Margaery asked, her breaths still shallow. 

“They’re there,” Tyrion said weakly. 

Sansa peered out into the night. 

“Are you sure? I can’t see anything.” 

“Neither can I. They’re under cover of darkness, but looking out there…” He shivered. “I can feel it.”

Sansa looked back in that direction, and sure enough, the longer she stared at the gloomy expanse of darkness the more she felt like a ghost was breathing down her neck. 

“They’re here,” she said, faintly but with certainty. “They’re coming.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Next up, the Battle of Winterfell, impending doom, etc. See you then.  
> As always, I'd love to hear your thoughts :)


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